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JOHN  MARK  AND 
OTHER  POEMS 


JOHN  MARK 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 
B  Y 

HERMAN  MELVILLE 

with  an  Introductory  Note  by 
HENRY  CHAPIN 


PRINCETON 
PRINCETON  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

LONDON  :   HUMPHREY   MILFORD 
OXFORD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

MCMXXII 


Copyrighted  and  Published  1923  by  Princeton  University  Press 
Printed  by  the  Princeton  University  Press,  Princeton,  U.  S.  A. 


Introductory  Note 


JVIelville's  verse  printed  for  the  most  part 
privately  in  small  editions  from  middle  life 
onward  after  his  great  prose  work  had  been 
written,  taken  as  a  whole,  is  of  an  amateurish 
and  uneven  quality.  In  it,  however,  that  love- 
able  freslmess  of  personality,  which  his  philo- 
sophical dejection  never  quenched,  is  every- 
where in  evidence.  It  is  clear  that  he  did  not 
set  himself  to  master  the  poet's  art,  yet  through 
the  mask  of  conventional  verse  which  often 
falls  into  doggerel,  the  voice  of  a  true  poet  is 
heard.  In  selecting  the  pieces  for  this  volume 
I  have  put  in  the  vigorous  sea  verses  of  John 
Marr  in  their  entirety  and  added  those  others 
from  his  Battle  Pieces,  Timoleon,  etc.,  that 
best  indicate  the  quality  of  their  author's  per- 
sonality. The  prose  Supplement  to  Battle 
Pieces  has  been  included  because  it  does  so 
much  to  explain  the  feeling  of  his  war  verse 
and  further  because  it  is  such  a  remarkably 
wise  and  clear  commentary  upon  those  con- 
fused and  troublous  days  of  post-war  recon- 
struction. H.  C. 


50;H4 


CONTENTS 


Inthoductory  Note 


PAGE 


John  Mark  and  Other  Poems 


JOHN  MARR  AND  OTHER  SAILORS 


BRIDEGROOM  DICK 


TOM  DEADLIGHT 


JACK  ROY 


15 

18 
43 
46 


Sea  Pieces 


THE  HAGLETS 


THE  ^^OLIAN  HARP 


TO  THE  MASTER  OF  THE  "mETEOr" 


FAR  OFF  SHORE 


THE  MAN-OF-WAR  HAWK 


THE  FIGURE-HEAD 


THE  GOOD  CRAFT  "SNOW  BIRd" 


OLD  COUNSEL 


THE  TUFT  OF  KELP 


51 
63 

66 

67 

68 

69 

70   ' 

72 

73 


THE  MiVLDIVE  SHARK  74 

TO  NED  75 

CROSSING  THE  TROPICS  77 

THE  BERG  78 

THE  ENVIABLE  ISLES  80 

PEBBLES  81 

Poems  from  Timoleon 

lines  traced  under  an  iiniage 

of  amor  threatening  85 

the  night  march  86 

the  ravaged  villa  87 

the  new  zealot  to  the  sun  88 

MONODY  90 

LONE  FOUNTS  91 

THE  BENCH  OF  BOORS  92 

ART  93 

the  enthusiast  94 

Shelley's  vision  96 

the  marchioness  of  brinvilliers  97 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  ANTONINES  98 

HERBA  SANTA  100 

OFF  CAPE  COLONNA  103 

THE  APPAHITION  104 

l'  envoi  105 

Supplement  109 

Poems  from  Battle  Pieces 

THE  portent  129 

FROM  THE  CONFLICT  OF  CONVICTIONS  130 

THE  MARCH  INTO  VIRGINIA  132 

BALL^S  BLUFF  134 

THE  STONE  FLEET  136 

THE  "temeraire"  138 

A  UTILITARIAN  VIEW  OF 

THE  "monitor's"  FIGHT  141 

MALVERN  HILL  143 

STONEWALL  JACKSON  145 

THE  HOUSE-TOP  146 


CHATTANOOGA  148 
ON  THE  rilOTOGRAril  OF 

a  corps  commander  151 

the  swamp  angel  153 

sheridan  at  cedar  creek  155 

in  the  prison  pen  157 

the  college  colonfx  158 

the  martyr  160 

rebel  color-bearers  at  shiloh  162 

aurora  borealis  .  164 

the  released  rebel  prisoner  165 

"formerly  a  slave"  167 

on  the  slain  collegians  168 

AMERICA  171 

INSCRIPTION  174 

THE  FORTITUDE  OF  THE  NORTH  175 

THE  MOUND  BY  THE  LAKE  176 

ON  THE  SLAIN  AT  CHICKAMAUGA  177 

AN  UNINSCRIBED  MONUMENT  178 


on  the  grave  of  a  young  cavalry 

officer  killed  in  the  valley 

of  virginia  179 

a  requiem  180 

commemoratnre  of  a  naval  victory    182 

a  meditation  184 

Poems  from  JMardi 

WE  fish  189 

invocation  191 

DIRGE  193 

MARLENA  194 

PIPE  SONG  195 

SONG  OF  YOOMY  196 

GOLD  197 

the  land  of  love  199 
Poems  from  Clarel 

DIRGE  203 

EPILOGUE  204 


JOHN  MARK  AND 
OTHER  SAILORS 


JOHN  MARK  AND 
OTHER  SAILORS 

Since  as  in  night's  deck-watch  ye  show, 
Why>  lads,  so  silent  here  to  me. 
Your  watchmate  of  times  long  ago? 
Once,  for  all  the  darkhng  sea. 
You  yom'  voices  raised  how  clearly, 
Striking  in  when  tempest  sung; 
Hoisting  up  the  storm-sail  cheerly, 
Life  is  storm — let  storm!  you  rung. 
Taking  things  as  fated  merely, 
Childlike  though  the  world  ye  spanned ; 
Nor  holding  unto  life  too  dearly, 
Ye  who  held  your  lives  in  hand — 
Skimmers,  who  on  oceans  four 
Petrels  were,  and  larks  ashore. 

O,  not  from  memory  lightly  flung, 
Forgot,  like  strains  no  more  availing. 
The  heart  to  music  haughtier  strung ; 
Nay,  frequent  near  me,  never  staking. 
Whose  good  feeling  kept  ye  young. 
Like  tides  that  enter  creek  or  stream. 
Ye  come,  ye  visit  me,  or  seem 
Swimming  out  from  seas  of  faces. 


[15] 


Alien  myriads  memory  traces, 
To  enfold  me  in  a  dream ! 

I  yearn  as  ye.  But  rafts  that  strain. 
Parted,  shall  they  lock  again? 
Twined  we  were,  entwined,  then  riven, 
Ever  to  new  embracements  driven. 
Shifting  gulf -weed  of  the  main ! 
And  how  if  one  here  shift  no  more, 
Lodged  by  the  flinging  surge  ashore  ? 
Nor  less,  as  now,  in  eve's  decline. 
Your  shadowy  fellowship  is  mine. 
Ye  float  around  me,  form  and  feature  :— 
Tattooings,  ear-rings,  love-locks  curled; 
Barbarians  of  man's  simpler  nature. 
Unworldly  servers  of  the  world. 
Yea,  present  all,  and  dear  to  me. 
Though  shades,  or  scouring  China's  sea. 

Wliither,  whither,  merchant-sailors. 
Whitherward  now  in  roaring  gales? 
Competing  still,  ye  huntsman- whalers. 
In  leviathan's  wake  what  boat  prevails  ? 
And  man-of-war's  men,  whereaway? 
If  now  no  dinned  drum  beat  to  quarters 
On  the  wilds  of  midnight  waters — 


[IG] 


Foemen  looming  through  the  spray ; 

Do  yet  your  gangway  lanterns,  streaming, 

Vainly  strive  to  pierce  below. 

When,  tilted  from  the  slant  plank  gleaming, 

A  brother  you  see  to  darkness  go? 

But,  gunmates  lashed  in  shotted  canvas. 

If  where  long  watch-below  ye  keep. 

Never  the  shrill  "All  hands  up  hammocks T" 

Breaks  the  spell  that  charms  your  sleep. 

And  summoning  trumps  might  vainly  call, 

And  booming  guns  implore — 

A  beat,  a  heart-beat  musters  all. 

One  heart-beat  at  heart-core. 

It  musters.  But  to  clasp,  retain; 

To  see  you  at  the  halyards  main — 

To  hear  your  chorus  once  again ! 


[17] 


BRIDEGROOM  DICK 

1876 

Sunning  ourselves  in  October  on  a  day 

Balmy  as  spring,  though  the  year  was  in  decay, 

I  lading  my  pipe,  she  stirring  her  tea, 

My  old  woman  she  says  to  me, 

"Feel  ye,  old  man,  how  the  season  mellows?" 

And  why  should  I  not,  blessed  heart  alive, 

Here  mellowing  myself,  past  sixty-five, 

To  think  o'  the  May-time  o'  pennoned  young 

fellows 
This  stripped  old  hulk  here  for  years  may 

survive. 

Ere  yet,  long  ago,  we  were  spliced,  Bonny  Blue, 
( Silvery  it  gleams  down  the  moon-glade  o'  time, 
Ah,  sugar  in  the  bowl  and  berries  in  the  prime ! ) 
Coxswain  I  o'  the  Commodore's  crew, — 
Under  me  the  fellows  that  manned  his  fine  gig. 
Spinning  him  ashore,  a  king  in  full  fig. 
Chirrupy  even  when  crosses  rubbed  me. 
Bridegroom  Dick  lieutenants  dubbed  me. 
Pleasant  at  a  yarn,  Bob  o'  Linkum  in  a  song. 
Diligent  in  duty  and  nattily  arrayed. 


[18] 


Favored  I  was,  wife,  and  fleeted  right  along; 
And  though  but  a  tot  for  such  a  tall  grade, 
A  high  quartermaster  at  last  I  was  made. 

All  this,  old  lassie,  you  have  heard  before. 
But  you  listen  again  for  the  sake  e'en  o'  me ; 
No  babble  stales  o'  the  good  times  o'  yore 
To  Joan,  if  Darby  the  babbler  be. 

Babbler? — O'  what?  Addled  brains,  they 

forget ! 
O — quartermaster  I ;  yes,  the  signals  set, 
Hoisted  the  ensign,  mended  it  when  frayed, 
Polished  up  the  binnacle,  minded  the  helm. 
And  prompt  every  order  blithely  obeyed. 
To  me  would  the  officers  say  a  word  cheery — 
Break  through  the  starch  o'  the  quarter-deck 

realm ; 
His  coxswain  late,  so  the  Commodore's  pet. 
Ay,  and  in  night-watches  long  and  weary, 
Bored  nigh  to  death  with  the  navy  etiquette. 
Yearning,  too,  for  fun,  some  younker,  a  cadet, 
Dropping  for  time  each  vain  bumptious  trick, 
Boy-like  would  unbend  to  Bridegroom  Dick. 


[19] 


But  a  limit  there  was — a  check,  d'  ye  see : 
Those  fine  young  aristocrats  knew  their  degree. 

Well,  stationed  aft  where  their  lordships 

keep, — 
Seldom  going  forward  excepting  to  sleep, — 
I,  boozing  now  on  by-gone  years. 
My  betters  recall  along  with  my  peers. 
Recall  them?  Wife,  but  I  see  them  plain: 
Alive,  alert,  every  man  stirs  again. 
Ay,  and  again  on  the  lee-side  pacing, 
My  spy-glass  carrying,  a  truncheon  in  show, 
Turning  at  the  taffrail,  my  footsteps  retracing, 
Proud  in  my  duty,  again  me  thinks  I  go. 
And  Dave,  Dainty  Dave,  I  mark  where  he 

stands, 
Our  trim  sailing-master,  to  time  the  high-noon, 
That  thingumbob  sextant  perplexing  eyes  and 

hands, 
Squinting  at  the  sun,  or  twigging  o'  the  moon; 
Then,  touching  his  cap  to  Old  Chock-a-Block 
Commanding  the  quarter-deck, — "Sir,  twelve 

o'clock." 

Where  sails  he  now,  that  trim  sailing-master. 


[20] 


Slender,  yes,  as  the  ship's  sky-s'l  pole? 
Dimly  I  mind  me  of  some  sad  disaster — 
Dainty  Dave  was  dropped  from  the  navy-roll! 
And  ah,  for  old  Lieutenant  Chock-a-Block — 
Fast,  wife,  chock-fast  to  death's  black  dock! 
Buffeted  about  the  obstreperous  ocean, 
Fleeted  his  life,  if  lagged  his  promotion. 
Little  girl,  they  are  all,  all  gone,  I  think. 
Leaving  Bridegroom  Dick  here  with  lids  that 
wink. 

Where  is  Ap  Catesby?  The  fights  fought  of 

yore 
Famed  him,  and  laced  him  with  epaulets,  and 

more. 
But  fame  is  a  wake  that  after- wakes  cross, 
And  the  waters  wallow  all,  and  laugh 

Where's  the  loss? 
But  John  Bull's  bullet  in  his  shoulder  bearing 
Ballasted  Ap  in  his  long  sea-faring. 
The  middies  they  ducked  to  the  man  who  had 

messed 
With  Decatur  in  the  gun-room,  or  forward 

pressed 
Fighting  beside  Perry,  Hull,  Porter,  and  the 

rest. 


[21] 


Humped  veteran  o'  the  Heart-o'-Oak  war, 
JNIoored  long  in  haven  where  the  old  heroes  are, 
Never  on  yon  did  the  iron-clads  jar! 
Your  open  deck  when  the  boarder  assailed, 
The  frank  old  heroic  hand-to-hand  then  availed. 

But  where's  Guert  Gan?  Still  heads  he  the  van? 
As  before  Vera-Cruz,  when  he  dashed  splashing 

through 
The  blue  rollers  sunned,  in  his  brave  gold-and- 

blue, 
And,  ere  his  cutter  in  keel  took  the  strand. 
Aloft  waved  his  sword  on  the  hostile  land ! 
Went  up  the  cheering,  the  quick  chanticleering ; 
All  hands  vjang — all  colors  flying : 
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!"  and  "Row,  boys,  row!" 
"Hey,  Starry  Banner!"  "Hi,  Santa  Anna!" 
Old  Scott's  young  dash  at  Mexico. 

Fine  forces  o'  the  land,  fine  forces  o'  the  sea. 
Fleet,  army,  and  flotilla — tell,  heart  o'  me, 
Tell,  if  you  can,  whereaway  now  they  be ! 

But  ah,  how  to  speak  of  the  hurricane 

unchained — 
The  Union's  strands  parted  in  the  hawser 

over-strained ; 

[22] 


Our  flag  blown  to  shreds,  anchors  gone 

altogether — 
The  dashed  fleet  o'  States  in  Secession's  foul 

weather. 

Lost  in  the  smother  o'  that  wide  public  stress, 
In  hearts,  private  hearts,  what  ties  there  were 

snapped! 
Tell,  Hal — vouch,  Will,  o'  the  ward-room  mess. 
On  you  how  the  riving  thunder-bolt  clapped. 
With  a  bead  in  your  eye  and  beads  in  your  glass, 
And  a  grip  o'  the  flipper,  it  was  part  and  pass : 
"Hal,  must  it  be :  Well,  if  come  indeed  the 

shock. 
To  North  or  to  South,  let  the  victory  cleave. 
Vaunt  it  he  may  on  his  dung-hill  the  cock. 
But  Uncle  Sam's  eagle  never  crow  will, 

believe." 

Sentiment:  ay,  while  suspended  hung  all. 
Ere  the  guns  against  Sumter  opened  there 

the  ball. 
And  partners  were  taken,  and  the  red  dance 

began, 
War's  red  dance  o'  death ! — Well,  we,  to  a  man. 


[23] 


We  sailors  o'  the  North,  wife,  how  could  we 

lag?— 
Strike  with  your  kin,  and  you  stick  to  the  flag! 
But  to  sailors  o'  tlie  Soutli  that  easy  way  was 

barred. 
To  some,  dame,  believe  (and  I  speak  o'  what  I 

know). 
Wormwood  the  trial  and  the  Uzzite's  black 

shard ; 
And  the  faithfuller  the  heart,  the  crueller  the 

throe. 
Duty?  It  pulled  with  more  than  one  string. 
This  waj^  and  that,  and  anyhow  a  sting. 
The  flag  and  your  kin,  how  be  true  unto  both  ? 
If  either  plight  ye  keep,  then  ye  break  the  other 

troth. 
But  elect  here  they  must,  though  the  casuists 

were  out ; 
Decide — hurry  up — and  throttle  every  doubt. 

Of  all  these  thrills  thrilled  at  keelson,  and 

throes. 
Little  felt  the  shoddyites  a-toasting  o'  their 

toes ; 
In  mart  and  bazar  Lucre  chuckled  the  huzza, 
Coining  the  dollars  in  the  bloody  mint  of  war. 


[24] 


But  in  men,  gray  knights  o'  the  Order  o'  Scars, 
And  brave  boys  bound  by  vows  unto  Mars, 
Nature  grappled  honor,  intertwisting  in  the 

strife : — 
But  some  cut  the  knot  with  a  thoroughgoing 

knife. 
For  how  when  the  drums  beat?  How  in  the  fray 
In  Hampton  Roads  on  the  fine  balmy  day? 

There  a  lull,  wife,  befell — drop  o'  silent  in  the 

din. 
Let  us  enter  that  silence  ere  the  belchings 

re-begin. 
Through  a  ragged  rift  aslant  in  the  cannonade's 

smoke 
An  iron-clad  reveals  her  repellent  broadside 
Bodily  intact.  But  a  frigate,  all  oak. 
Shows  honeycombed  by  shot,  and  her  deck 

crimson-dyed. 
And  a  trumpet  from  port  of  the  iron-clad  hails, 
Summoning  the  other,  whose  flag  never  trails : 
"Surrender  that  frigate.  Will!  Surrender, 
Or  I  will  sink  her — 7'am,  and  end  her!" 

'T  was  Hal,  And  Will,  from  the  naked  heart- 
o'-oak, 


[25] 


Will,  the  old  messmate,  minus  trumpet,  spoke. 
Informally  intrepid, — "Sink  her,  and  be 

damned!"* 
Enough.  Gathering  way,  the  iron-clad  ramvied. 
The  frigate,  heeling  over,  on  the  wave  threw  a 

dusk. 
Not  sharing  in  the  slant,  the  clapper  of  her  bell 
The  fixed  metal  struck — uinvoked  struck  the 

knell 
Of  the  Cumberland  stillettoed  by  the 

Merrimac's  tusk ; 
While,  broken  in  the  wound  underneath  the 

gun-deck. 
Like  a  sword-fish's  blade  in  leviathan  waylaid, 
The  tusk  was  left  infixed  in  the  fast-foundering 

wreck. 
There,  dungeoned  in  the  cockpit,  the  wounded 

go  down. 
And  the  chaplain  with  them.  But  the  surges 

uplift 
The  prone  dead  from  deck,  and  for  moment 

they  drift 
Washed  with  the  swimmers,  and  the  spent 

swimmers  drown. 

*  Historic. 


[26] 


Nine  fathom  did  she  sink, — erect,  though  hid 

from  hght 
Save  her  colors  unsurrendered  and  spars  that 

kept  the  height. 

Nay,  pardon,  old  aunty !  Wife,  never  let  it  fall, 
That  big  started  tear  that  hovers  on  the  brim ; 
I  forgot  about  your  nephew  and  the  Merrimac's 

ball; 
No  more  then  of  her,  since  it  summons  up  him. 
But  talk  o'  fellows'  hearts  in  the  wine's  genial 

cup: — 
Trap  them  in  the  fate,  jam  them  in  the  strait, 
Guns  speak  their  hearts  then,  and  speak 

right  up. 
The  troublous  colic  o'  intestine  war 
It  sets  the  bowels  o'  affection  ajar. 
But,  lord,  old  dame,  so  spins  the  whizzing  world, 
A  humming-top,  ay,  for  the  little  boy-gods 
Flogging  it  well  with  their  smart  little  rods, 
Tittering  at  time  and  the  coil  uncurled. 

Now,  now,  sweetheart,  you  sidle  away, 
No,  never  you  like  that  kind  o'  gay; 
But  sour  if  I  get,  giving  truth  her  due. 
Honey-sweet  forever,  wife,  will  Dick  be  to  you! 


[27] 


But  avast  with  the  War!  Why  recall  racking 

days 
Since  set  up  anew  are  the  ship's  started  stays? 
Nor  less,  though  the  gale  we  have  left  behind, 
Well  may  the  heave  o'  the  sea  remind. 
It  irks  me  now,  as  it  troubled  me  then, 
To  think  o'  the  fate  in  the  madness  o'  men. 
If  Dick  was  with  Farragut  on  the  night-river, 
When  the  boom-chain  we  burst  in  the  fire-raft's 

glare, 
That  blood-dyed  the  visage  as  red  as  the  liver ; 
In  the  Battle  for  the  Bay  too  if  Dick  had  a 

share, 
And  saw  one  aloft  a-piloting  the  war — 
Trumpet  in  the  whirlwind,  a  Providence  in 

place — 
Our  Admiral  old  whom  the  captains  huzza, 
Dick  joys  in  the  man  nor  brags  about  the  race. 

But  better,  wife,  I  like  to  booze  on  the  days 
Ere  the  Old  Order  foundered  in  these  very 

frays. 
And  tradition  was  lost  and  we  learned  strange 

ways. 
Often  I  think  on  the  brave  cruises  then ; 


[28] 


Re-sailing  them  in  memory,  I  hail  the  press  o' 

men 
On  the  gunned  promenade  where  rolling  they 

go, 
Ere  the  dog-watch  expire  and  break  up  the 

show. 
The  Laced  Caps  I  see  between  forward  guns ; 
Away  from  the  powder-room  they  puff  the 

cigar ; 
"Three  days  more,  hey,  the  donnas  and  the 

dons!" 
"Your  Zeres  widow,  will  you  hunt  her  up, 

Starr?" 
The  Laced  Caps  laugh,  and  the  bright  waves 

too; 
Very  jolly,  very  wicked,  both  sea  and  crew, 
Nor  heaven  looks  sour  on  either,  I  guess, 
Nor  Pecksniff  he  bosses  the  gods'  high  mess. 
Wistful  ye  peer,  wife,  concerned  for  my  head. 
And  how  best  to  get  me  betimes  to  my  bed. 

But  king  o'  the  club,  the  gayest  golden  spark, 
Sailor  o'  sailors,  what  sailor  do  I  mark? 
Tom  Tight,  Tom  Tight,  no  fine  fellow  finer, 
A  cutwater  nose,  ay,  a  spirited  soul ; 
But,  bowsing  away  at  the  well-brewed  bowl, 


[29] 


He  never  bowled  back  from  that  last  voj^age  to 
China. 

Tom  was  lieutenant  in  the  brig-o'-war  famed 
When  an  officer  was  hung  for  an  arch-mutineer, 
But  a  mystery  cleaved,  and  the  captain  was 

blamed. 
And  a  rumpus  too  raised,  though  his  honor 

it  was  clear. 
And  Tom  he  would  say,  when  the  mousers 

would  try  him, 
And  with  cup  after  cup  o'  Burgundy  ply  him: 
"Gentlemen,  in  vain  with  your  wassail  you 

beset. 
For  the  more  I  tipple,  the  tighter  do  I  get." 
No  blabber,  no,  not  even  with  the  can — 
True  to  himself  and  loyal  to  his  clan. 

Tom  blessed  us  starboard  and  d — d  us  larboard. 
Right  down  from  rail  to  the  streak  o'  the 

garboard. 
ISTor  less,  wife,  we  liked  him. — Tom  was  a  man 
In  contrast  queer  with  Chaplain  Le  Fan, 
Who  blessed  us  at  morn,  and  at  night  yet  again, 
D — ning  us  only  in  decorous  strain ; 


[30] 


Preaching  'tween  the  guns — each  cutlass  in  its 

place — 
From  text  that  averred  old  Adam  a  hard  case. 
I  see  him — Tom — on  horse-hloch  standing, 
Trumpet  at  mouth,  thrown  up  all  amain. 
An  elephant's  bugle,  vociferous  demanding 
Of  topmen  aloft  in  the  hurricane  of  rain, 
"Letting  that  sail  there  your  faces  flog? 
Manhandle  it,  men,  and  you'll  get  the  good 

grog!" 
O  Tom,  but  he  knew  a  blue- jacket's  ways, 
And  how  a  lieutenant  may  genially  haze ; 
Only  a  sailor  sailors  heartily  praise. 

Wife,  where  be  all  these  chaps,  I  wonder? 
Trumpets  in  the  tempest,  terrors  in  the  fray. 
Boomed  their  commands  along  the  deck  like 

thunder ; 
But  silent  is  the  sod,  and  thunder  dies  away. 
But  Captain  Turret,  ''Old  Hemlock''  tall, 
(A  leaning  tower  when  his  tank  brimmed  all,) 
Manoeuvre  out  alive  from  the  war  did  he  ? 
Or,  too  old  for  that,  drift  under  the  lee  ? 
Kentuckian  colossal,  who,  touching  at  Madeira, 
The  huge  puncheon  shipped  o'  prime 

Santa-Clara; 


[31] 


Then  rocked  along  the  deck  so  solemnly ! 

No  whit  the  less  though  judicious  was  enough 

In  dealing  with  the  Finn  who  made  the  great 

hutf; 
Our  three-decker's  giant,  a  grand  boatswain's 

mate, 
Manliest  of  men  in  his  own  natural  senses ; 
But  driven  stark  mad  by  the  devil's  drugged 

stuff. 
Storming  all  aboard  from  his  run-ashore  late. 
Challenging  to  battle,  vouchsafing  no  pretenses, 
A  reeling  King  Ogg,  delirious  in  power, 
The  quarter-deck  carronades  he  seemed  to 

make  cower. 
"Put  him  in  brig  there!"  said  Lieutenant 

Marrot. 
"Put  him  in  hiig!"  back  he  mocked  like  a 

parrot ; 
"Try  it,  then ! "  swaj^ing  a  fist  like  Thor's 

sledge. 
And  making  the  pigmy  constables  hedge — 
Ship's  corporals  and  the  master-at-arms. 
"In  brig  there,  I  say!" — They  dally  no  more; 
Like  hounds  let  slip  on  a  desperate  boar. 
Together  they  pounce  on  the  formidable  Finn, 
Pinion  and  cripple  and  hustle  him  in. 


[32] 


Anon,  under  sentry,  between  twin  guns, 

He  slides  off  in  drowse,  and  the  long  night  runs. 

Morning  brings  a  summons.  Whistling  it  calls. 
Shrilled  through  the  pipes  of  the  boatswain's 

four  aids ; 
Trilled  down  the  hatchwaj^s  along  the  dusk 

halls : 
Muster  to  the  Scourge! — Dawn  of  doom  and 

its  blast ! 
As  from  cemeteries  raised,  sailors  swarm  before 

the  mast, 
Tumbling  up  the  ladders  from  the  ship's  nether 

shades. 

Keeping  in  the  background  and  taking  small 

part. 
Lounging  at  their  ease,  indifferent  in  face. 
Behold  the  trim  marines  uncompromised  in 

heart ; 
Their  Major,  buttoned  up,  near  the  staff  finds 

room — 
The  staff  o'  lieutenants  standing  grouped  in 

their  place. 
All  the  Laced  Caps  o'  the  ward-room  come. 


[33] 


The  Chaplain  among  them,  discipHned  and 

dmiib. 
The  bhie-nosed  boatswain,  complexioned  hke 

slag, 
Like  a  blue  Monday  lours — liis  implements  in 

bag. 
Executioners,  his  aids,  a  couple  by  him  stand, 
At  a  nod  there  the  thongs  to  receive  from  his 

hand. 
Never  venturing  a  caveat  whatever  may  betide, 
Thou"-h  functionally  here  on  humanity's  side, 
The  grave  Surgeon  shows,  like  the  formal 

physician 
Attending  the  rack  o'  the  Spanish  Inquisition. 

The  angel  o'  the  "brig"  brings  his  prisoner  up ; 
Then,  steadied  by  his  old  Santa-Clara,  a  sup. 
Heading  all  erect,  the  ranged  assizes  there, 
Lo,  Captain  Turret,  and  under  starred 

bunting, 
(A  florid  full  face  and  fine  silvered  hair,) 
Gigantic  the  yet  greater  giant  confronting. 

Now  the  culprit  he  liked,  as  a  tall  captain  can 
A  Titan  subordinate  and  true  sailor-man; 


[34] 


And  frequent  he'd  shown  it — no  worded 

advance, 
But  flattering  the  Finn  with  a  well-timed 

glance. 
But  what  of  that  now?  In  the  martinet-mien 
Read  the  Articles  of  War,  heed  the  naval 

routine ; 
While,  cut  to  the  heart  a  dishonor  there  to  win. 
Restored  to  his  senses,  stood  the  Anak  Finn ; 
In  racked  self-control  the  squeezed  tears 

peeping, 
Scalding  the  eye  with  repressed  inkeeping. 
Discipline  must  be ;  the  scourge  is  deemed  due. 
But  ah  for  the  sickening  and  strange  heart- 

benumibing, 
Compassionate  abasement  in  shipmates  that 

view; 
Such  a  grand  champion  shamed  there 

succumbing ! 
"Brown,  tie  him  up." — The  cord  he  brooked: 
How  else  ? — his  arms  spread  apart — never 

threaping ; 
No,  never  he  flinched,  never  sideways  he  looked, 
Peeled  to  the  waistband,  the  marble  flesh 

creeping. 
Lashed  by  the  sleet  the  officious  winds  urge. 


[35] 


In  function  his  fellows  their  fellowship  merge — 
The  twain  standing  nigh — the  two  boatswain's 

mates, 
Sailors  of  his  grade,  ay,  and  brothers  of  his 

mess. 
With  sharp  thongs  adroop  the  junior  one 

awaits 
The  word  to  uplift. 

"Untie  him — so! 
Submission  is  enough,  Man,  you  may  go." 
Then,  promenading  aft,  brushing  fat  Purser 

Smart, 
"Flog?  Never  meant  it — hadn't  any  heart. 
Degrade  that  tall  fellow?" — Such,  wife,  was  he, 
Old  Captain  Turret,  who  the  brave  wine  could 

stow. 
Magnanimous,  you  think? — But  what  does 

Dick  see? 
Apron  to  your  eye !  Why,  never  fell  a  blow ; 
Cheer  up,  old  wifie,  't  was  a  long  time  ago. 

But  where's  that  sore  one,  crabbed  and  severe. 
Lieutenant  Lon  Lumbago,  an  arch  scrutineer? 
Call  the  roll  to-day,  would  he  answer — Here! 
When  the  Blixum's  fellows  to  quarters 
mustered 


[36] 


How  he'd  lurch  along  the  lane  of  gun-crews 

clustered, 
Testy  as  touchwood,  to  pry  and  to  peer. 
Jerking  his  sword  underneath  larhoard  arm, 
He  ground  his  worn  grinders  to  keep  himself 

calm. 
Composed  in  his  nerves,  from  the  fidgets  set 

free. 
Tell,  Sweet  Wrinkles,  alive  now  is  he, 
In  Paradise  a  parlor  where  the  even 

tempers  he  ? 

Where's  Commander  All-a-Tanto  ? 
Where's  Orlop  Bob  singing  up  from  below? 
Where's  Rhyming  Ned?  has  he  spun  his  last 

canto  ? 
Where's  Jewsharp  Jim?  Where's  Ringadoon 

Joe? 
Ah,  for  the  music  over  and  done, 
The  band  all  dismissed  save  the  droned 

trombone  I 
Where's  Glenn  o'  the  gun-room,  who  loved 

Hot- Scotch — 
Glen,  prompt  and  cool  in  a  perilous  watch  ? 
Where's  flaxen-haired  Phil?  a  gray  lieutenant? 
Or  rubicund,  flying  a  dignified  pennant? 


[37] 


But  where  sleeps  his  brother?- — the  cruise  it  was 

o'er, 
But  ah,  for  death's  grip  that  welcomed  him 

ashore ! 
Where's  Sid,  the  cadet,  so  frank  in  his  brag, 
Whose  toast  was  audacious — "Here's  Sid,  and 

Sid's  flag!" 
Like  holiday-craft  that  have  sunk  unkno\Mi, 
May  a  lark  of  a  lad  go  lonely  down? 
Who  takes  the  census  under  the  sea  ? 
Can  others  like  old  ensigns  be, 
Bunting  I  hoisted  to  flutter  at  the  gaff — 
Rags  in  end  that  once  were  flags 
Gallant  streaming  from  the  staff  ? 

Such  scurvy  doom  could  the  chances  deal 
To  Top-Gallant  Harry  and  Jack  Genteel? 
Lo,  Genteel  Jack  in  hurricane  weather. 
Shagged  like  a  bear,  like  a  red  lion  roaring ; 
But  O,  so  fine  in  his  chapeau  and  feather, 
In  port  to  the  ladies  never  once  jawing; 
All  bland  politesse,  how  urbane  was  he — 
''Oui,  mademoiselle" — "Ma  chere  amie!" 

'T  was  Jack  got  up  the  ball  at  Naples, 
Gay  in  the  old  Ohio  glorious ; 


[38] 


His  hair  was  curled  by  the  berth-deck  barber, 
Never  you'd  deemed  him  a  cub  of  rude  Boreas ; 
In  tight  httle  pumps,  with  the  grand  dames  in 

rout, 
A-flinging  his  shapely  foot  all  about ; 
His  watch-chain  with  love's  jeweled  tokens 

abounding. 
Curls  ambrosial  shaking  out  odors. 
Waltzing  along  the  batteries,  astounding 
The  gunner  glum  and  the  grim-visaged  loaders. 

Wife,  where  be  all  these  blades,  I  wonder, 
Pennoned  fine  fellows,  so  strong,  so  gay? 
Never  their  colors  with  a  dip  dived  under ; 
Have  they  hauled  them  down  in  a  lack-lustre 

day, 
Or  beached  their  boats  in  the  Far,  Far  Away? 
Hither  and  thither,  blown  wide  asunder, 
Where's  this  fleet,  I  wonder  and  wonder. 
Slipt  their  cables,  rattled  their  adieu, 
(Whereaway  pointing?  to  what  rendezvous?) 
Out  of  sight,  out  of  mind,  like  the  crack 

Constitution, 
And  many  a  keel  time  never  shall  renew — 
Bon  Homme  Dick  o'  the  buff  Revolution, 
The  Black  Cockade  and  the  staunch  True-Blue. 


[39] 


Doff  hats  to  Decatur!  But  where  is  his  blazon? 
Must  merited  fame  endure  time's  wrong — 
Gloiy's  ripe  grape  wizen  up  to  a  raisin? 
Yes !  for  Nature  teems,  and  the  years  are 

strong, 
And  who  can  keep  the  tally  o'  the  names  that 

fleet  along! 

But  his  frigate,  wife,  his  bride  ?  Would 

blacksmiths  brown 
Into  smithereens  smite  the  solid  old  renown  ? 
Rivetting  the  bolts  in  the  iron-clad's  shell, 
Hark  to  the  hammers  with  a  rat-tat-tat; 
"Handier  a  derby  than  a  laced  cocked  hat! 
The  Monitor  was  ugl}^  but  she  served  us  right 

well, 
Better  than  the  Cumberland,  a  beauty  and  the 

belle." 

Better  than  the  Cumherland! — Heart  alive 

in  me! 
That  battlemented  hull,  Tantallon  o'  the  sea, 
Kicked  in,  as  at  Boston  the  taxed  chests  o'  tea! 
Ay,  spurned  by  the  ram,  once  a  tall,  shapely 

craft. 


[40] 


But  lopped  by  the  Rebs  to  an  iron-beaked 

raft — 
A  blacksmith's  unicorn  in  armor  cap-a-pie. 

Under  the  water-line  a  rarns  blow  is  dealt : 
And  foul  fall  the  knuckles  that  strike  below  the 

belt. 
Nor  brave  the  inventions  that  serve  to  replace 
The  openness  of  valor  while  dismantling  the 

grace. 

Aloof  from  all  this  and  the  never-ending  game, 
Tantamount  to  teetering,  plot  and  counterplot ; 
Impenetrable  armor — all-perforating  shot ; 
Aloof,  bless  God,  ride  the  war-ships  of  old, 
A  grand  fleet  moored  in  the  roadstead  of  fame ; 
Not  submarine  sneaks  with  them  are  enrolled ; 
Their  long  shadows  dwarf  us,  their  flags  are  as 
flame. 

Don't  fidget  so,  wife ;  an  old  man's  passion 
Amounts  to  no  more  than  this  smoke  that  I 

puff; 
There,  there,  now,  buss  me  in  good  old  fashion ; 
A  died-down  candle  will  flicker  in  the  snuff. 


[«] 


But  one  last  thing  let  your  old  babbler  say, 

What  Decatur's  coxswain  said  who  was  long 
ago  hearsed, 

"Take  in  your  flying-kites,  for  there  comes  a 
lubber's  day 

When  gallant  things  will  go,  and  the  three- 
deckers  first." 

My  pipe  is  smoked  out,  and  the  grog  runs 

slack ; 
But  bowse  away,  wife,  at  your  blessed  Bohea; 
This  empty  can  here  must  needs  solace  me — 
Nay,  sweetheart,  nay ;  I  take  that  back ; 
Dick  drinks  from  your  eyes  and  he  finds  no 

lack! 


[42] 


TOM   DEADLIGHT 

During  a  tempest  encountered  homeward-hound  from 
the  Mediterranean,  a  grizzled  petty-officer,  one  of  the 
two  captains  of  the  forecastle,  dying  at  night  in  his  ham- 
mock, swung  in  the  sick-bay  under  the  tiered  gun-decks 
of  the  British  Dreadnaught,  98,  wandering  in  his  mind, 
though  with  glimpses  of  sanity,  and  starting  up  at  whiles, 
sings  by  snatches  his  good-bye  and  last  injunctions  to 
two  messmates,  his  watchers,  one  of  whom  fans  the 
fevered  tar  with  the  flap  of  his  old  sou'wester.  Some 
names  and  phrases,  with  here  and  there  a  line,  or  part  of 
one;  these,  in  his  aberration,  wrested  into  incoherency 
from  their  original  connection  and  import,  he  voluntarily 
derives,  as  he  does  the  measure,  from  a  famous  old  sea- 
ditty,  whose  cadences,  long  rife,  and  now  humming  in  the 
collapsing  brain,  attune  the  last  flutterings  of  distem- 
pered thought. 

Faeewell  and  adieu  to  you  noble  hearties, — 
Farewell  and  adieu  to  you  ladies  of  Sj)ain, 
For  I've  received  orders  for  to  sail  for  the 
Deadman, 
But  hope  with  the  grand  fleet  to  see  you 
again. 


[43] 


I  have  hove  my  ship  to,  with  main-top-sail 
aback,  boys ; 
I  have  hove  my  ship  to,  for  the  strike 
soundings  clear — 
The  black  scud  a'flying;  but,  by  God's  blessing, 
dam'  me. 
Right  up  the  Channel  for  the  Deadman  I'll 
steer. 

I  have  worried  through  the  waters  that  are 
called  the  Doldrums, 
And  growled  at  Sargasso  that  clogs  while  ye 
grope — 
Blast  my  eyes,  but  the  light-ship  is  hid  by  the 
mist,  lads : — 
Flying  Dutclwian — odds  bobbs — off  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope ! 

But  what's  this  I  feel  that  is  fanning  my  cheek, 
Matt? 
The  white  goney's  wing? — how  she  rolls! — 
't  is  the  Cape ! — 
Give  my  kit  to  the  mess,  Jock,  for  kin  none  is 
mine,  none ; 
And  tell  Holy  Joe  to  avast  with  the  crape. 


[44] 


Dead  reckoning,  says  Joe,  it  won't  do  to  go  by ; 
But  they  doused  all  the  glims,  Matt,  in  sky 
t'  other  night. 
Dead  reckoning  is  good  for  to  sail  for  the 
Deadman; 
And  Tom  Deadlight  he  thinks  it  may  reckon 
near  right. 

The  signal ! — it  streams  for  the  grand  fleet  to 
anchor. 
The  captains — the  trumpets — the  hullabaloo ! 
Stand  by  for  blue-blazes,  and  mind  your 
shank-painters. 
For  the  Lord  High  Admiral,  he's  squinting 
at  you! 

But  give  me  my  tot.  Matt,  before  I  roll  over; 
Jock,  let's  have  your  flipper,  it's  good  for  to 
feel; 
And  don't  sew  me  up  without  haccy  in  mouth, 
boys, 
And  don't  blubber  like  lubbers  when  I  turn 
up  my  keel. 


[45] 


JACK  HOY 

Kept  up  by  relays  of  generations  young 
Never  dies  at  halyards  the  blithe  chorus  sung ; 
While  in  sands,  sounds,  and  seas  where  the 

storm-petrels  cry. 
Dropped  mute  around  the  globe,  these  halyard 

singers  lie. 
Short-lived  the  clippers  for  racing-cups  that 

run, 
And  speeds  in  life's  career  many  a  lavish 

mother's-son. 

But  thou,  manly  king  o'  the  old  Splendid' s 

crew. 
The  ribbons  o'  thy  hat  still  a-fluttering,  should 

fly- 

A  challenge,  and  forever,  nor  the  braveiy 

should  rue. 
Only  in  a  tussle  for  the  stariy  flag  high, 
AVlien  'tis  piety  to  do,  and  privilege  to  die. 
Then,  only  then,  would  heaven  think  to  lop 
Such  a  cedar  as  the  captain  o'  the  Splendid' s 

main- top : 
A  belted  sea-gentleman ;  a  gallant,  off-hand 
Mercutio  indifferent  in  life's  gay  command. 
Magnanimous  in  humor ;  when  the  splintering 

shot  fell, 

[46] 


"Tooth-picks  a-plenty,  lads;  thank  'em  with  a 
shell!" 

Sang  Larry  o'  the  Cannakin,  smuggler  o'  the 

wine, 
At  mess  between  guns,  lad  in  jovial  recline: 
"In  Limbo  our  Jack  he  would  chirrup  up  a 

cheer, 
The  martinet  there  find  a  chaffing  mutineer ; 
From  a  thousand  fathoms  down  under  hatches 

o'  your  Hades, 
He'd  ascend  in  love-ditty,  kissing  fingers  to 

your  ladies!" 

Never  relishing  the  knave,  though  allowing 

for  the  menial. 
Nor  overmuch  the  king,  Jack,  nor  prodigally 

genial. 
Ashore  on  hberty  he  flashed  in  escapade, 
Vaulting  over  life  in  its  levelness  of  grade. 
Like  the  dolphin  off  Africa  in  rainbow 

a-sweeping — 
Arch  iridescent  shot  from  seas  languid 

sleeping. 

Larking  with  thy  life,  if  a  joy  but  a  toy. 
Heroic  in  thy  levity  wert  thou.  Jack  Roy. 


[47] 


SEA   PIECES 


THE  HAGLETS 

By  chapel  bare,  with  walls  sea-beat 
The  lichened  urns  in  wilds  are  lost 
About  a  carved  memorial  stone 
That  shows,  decayed  and  coral-mossed, 
A  f oi-m  recumbent,  swords  at  feet, 
Trophies  at  head,  and  kelp  for  a 
winding-sheet. 

I  invoke  thy  ghost,  neglected  fane. 
Washed  by  the  waters'  long  lament; 
I  adjure  the  recumbent  effigy 
To  tell  the  cenotaph's  intent — 
Reveal  why  f agotted  swords  are  at  feet. 
Why  trophies  appear  and  weeds  are  the 
winding-sheet. 

By  open  ports  the  Admiral  sits. 
And  shares  repose  with  guns  that  tell 
Of  power  that  smote  the  arm'd  Plate  Fleet 
Whose  sinking  flag-ship's  colors  fell; 
But  over  the  Admiral  floats  in  light 
His  squadron's  flag,  the  red-cross  Flag 
of  the  White. 


[51] 


The  eddying  waters  whirl  astern, 
The  prow,  a  seedsman,  sows  the  spray ; 
With  bellying  sails  and  buckling  spars 
The  black  hull  leaves  a  Milky  Way ; 
Her  timbers  thrill,  her  batteries  roll. 
She  revelling  speeds  exulting  with  pennon 
at  pole, 

But  ah,  for  standards  captive  trailed 
For  all  their  scutcheoned  castles'  pride — 
Castilian  towers  that  dominate  Spain, 
Naples,  and  either  Ind  beside ; 
Those  haughty  towers,  armorial  ones, 
Rue  the  salute  from  the  Admiral's  dens 
of  guns. 

Ensigns  and  arms  in  trophy  brave. 
Braver  for  many  a  rent  and  scar. 
The  captor's  naval  hall  bedeck. 
Spoil  that  insures  an  earldom's  star — 
Toledoes  great,  grand  draperies,  too, 
Spain's  steel  and  silk,  and  splendors  from 
Peru. 

But  crippled  part  in  splintering  fight. 
The  vanquished  flying  the  victor's  flags. 


[52] 


With  prize-crews,  under  convoy-guns, 
Heavy  the  fleet  from  Opher  drags — 
The  Admiral  crowding  sail  ahead, 
Foremost  with  news  who  foremost  in  conflict 
sped. 

But  out  from  cloistral  gallery  dim, 
In  early  night  his  glance  is  thrown; 
He  marks  the  vague  reserve  of  heaven. 
He  feels  the  touch  of  ocean  lone ; 
Then  turns,  in  frame  part  undermined, 
Nor  notes  the  shadowing  wings  that  fan 
behind. 

There,  peaked  and  gray,  three  haglets  fly, 

And  follow,  follow  fast  in  wake 

Where  slides  the  cabin-lustre  shy. 

And  sharks  from  man  a  glamour  take. 

Seething  along  the  line  of  light 

In  lane  that  endless  rules  the  war-ship's  flight. 

The  sea- fowl  here,  whose  hearts  none  know. 
They  followed  late  the  flag-ship  quelled, 
(Asnowthe  victor  one)  and  long 
Above  her  gurgling  grave,  shrill  held 


[53] 


With  screams  their  wheehng  rites — then  sped 
Direct  in  silence  where  the  victor  led. 

Now  winds  less  fleet,  hut  fairer,  blow, 
A  ripple  laps  the  coppered  side, 
While  phosphor  sparks  make  ocean  gleam, 
Like  camps  lit  up  in  triumph  wide ; 
With  lights  and  tinkling  cymbals  meet 
Acclaiming  seas  the  advancing  conqueror 
greet. 

But  who  a  flattering  tide  may  trust, 
Or  favoring  breeze,  or  aught  in  end? — 
Careening  under  startling  blasts 
The  sheeted  towers  of  sails  impend ; 
While,  gathering  bale,  behind  is  bred 
A  livid  storm-bow,  like  a  rainbow  dead. 

At  trumpet-call  the  topmen  spring ; 
And,  urged  by  after-call  in  stress, 
Yet  other  tribes  of  tars  ascend 
The  rigging's  howling  wilderness ; 
But  ere  yard-ends  alert  they  win. 
Hell  rules  in  heaven  with  hurricane-fire 
and  din. 


[54] 


The  spars,  athwart  at  sj^iry  height, 
Like  quaking  Lima's  crosses  rock; 
Like  bees  the  clustering  sailors  cling 
Against  the  shrouds,  or  take  the  shock 
Flat  on  the  swept  yard-arms  aslant, 
Dipped  like  the  wheeling  condor's  pinions 
gaunt. 

A  LULL !  and  tongues  of  languid  flame 
Lick  every  boom,  and  lambent  show 
Electric  'gainst  each  face  aloft ; 
The  herds  of  clouds  with  bellowings  go : 
The  black  ship  rears — beset — harassed, 
Then  plunges  far  with  luminous  antlers  vast. 

In  trim  betimes  they  turn  from  land. 
Some  shivered  sails  and  spars  they  stow ; 
One  watch,  dismissed,  they  troll  the  can. 
While  loud  the  billow  thumps  the  bow — 
Vies  with  the  fist  that  smites  the  board, 
Obstreperous  at  each  reveller's  jovial  word. 

Of  royal  oak  by  storms  confirmed, 
The  tested  hull  her  lineage  shows : 
Vainly  the  plungings  whelm  her  prow — 
She  rallies,  rears,  she  sturdier  grows : 


[55] 


Ecach  shot-hole  jjlugged,  each  storm-sail  home, 
With  batteries  housed  she  rams  the  watery 
dome. 

Dim  seen  adrift  through  driving  scud, 
The  wan  moon  shows  in  plight  forlorn ; 
Then,  pinched  in  visage,  fades  and  fades 
Like  to  the  faces  drowned  at  morn, 
When  deeps  engulfed  the  flag-ship's  crew, 
And,  shrilling  round,  the  inscrutable  haglets 
flew. 

And  still  they  fly,  nor  now  they  cry, 

But  constant  fan  a  second  wake. 

Unflagging  pinions  ply  and  plj^ 

Abreast  their  course  intent  they  take ; 

Their  silence  marks  a  stable  mood, 

They  patient  keep  their  eager  neighborhood. 

Plumed  with  a  smoke,  a  confluent  sea, 
Heaved  in  a  combing  pyramid  full, 
Spent  at  its  climax,  in  collapse 
Down  headlong  thundering  stuns  the  hull : 
The  trophy  drops;  but,  reared  again. 
Shows  Mars'  high-altar  and  contemns  the 
main. 


[56] 


Rebuilt  it  stands,  the  brag  of  arms, 
Transferred  in  site — no  thought  of  where 
The  sensitive  needle  keeps  its  place, 
And  starts,  disturbed,  a  quiverer  there ; 
The  helmsman  rubs  the  clouded  glass — 
Peers  in,  but  lets  the  trembling  portent  pass. 

Let  pass  as  well  his  shipmates  do 
(Whose  dream  of  power  no  tremors  jar) 
Fears  for  the  fleet  convoyed  astern : 
"Our  flag  they  fly,  they  share  our  star ; 
Spain's  galleons  great  in  hull  are  stout : 
Manned  by  our  men — like  us  they'll  ride  it 
out." 

Tonight's  the  night  that  ends  the  week — 
Ends  day  and  week  and  month  and  year : 
A  fourfold  imminent  flickering  time, 
For  now  the  midnight  draws  anear : 
Eight  bells !  and  passing-bells  they  be — 
The  Old  year  fades,  the  Old  Year  dies  at  sea. 

He  launched  them  well.  But  shall  the  New 
Redeem  the  pledge  the  Old  Year  made. 
Or  prove  a  self -asserting  heir? 
But  healthy  hearts  few  qualms  invade : 


[57] 


By  shot-chests  grouped  in  bays  'tween  giins 
The  gossips  chat,  the  grizzled,  sea-beat  ones. 

And  boyish  dreams  some  graybeards  blab : 
"To  sea,  my  lads,  we  go  no  more 
Who  share  the  Acapulco  prize ; 
We'll  all  night  in,  and  bang  the  door; 
Our  ingots  red  shall  yield  us  bliss : 
Lads,  golden  years  begin  to-night  with  this!" 


Released  from  deck,  yet  waiting  call, 
Glazed  caps  and  coats  baptized  in  storm, 
A  watch  of  Laced  Sleeves  round  the  board 
Draw  near  in  heart  to  keep  them  warm : 
"Sweethearts  and  wives!"  clink,  clink,  they 

meet, 
And,  quaffing,  dip  in  wine  their  beards  of 

sleet. 
"Ay,  let  the  star-light  stay  withdrawn. 
So  here  her  hearth-light  memory  fling. 
So  in  this  wine-light  cheer  be  born. 
And  honor's  fellowship  weld  our  ring — 
Honor !  our  Admiral's  aim  foretold : 


A  tomh  or  a  trophy,  and  lo,  't  is  a  trophy  and 
gold!" 
But  he,  a  unit,  sole  in  rank, 

[58] 


Apart  needs  keep  Ms  lonely  state, 

The  sentiy  at  his  guarded  door 

Mute  as  by  vault  the  sculptured  Fate ; 

Belted  he  sits  in  drowsy  light, 

And,  hatted,  nods — the  Admiral  of  the  White. 

He  dozes,  aged  with  watches  passed — 
Years,  years  of  pacing  to  and  fro ; 
He  dozes,  nor  attends  the  stir 
In  bullioned  standards  rustling  low. 
Nor  minds  the  blades  whose  secret  thrill 
Perverts  overhead  the  magnet's  Polar  will : — 

Less  heeds  the  shadowing  three  that  play 
And  follow,  follow  fast  in  wake, 
Untiring  wing  and  lidless  eye — 
Abreast  their  course  intent  they  take ; 
Or  sigh  or  sing,  they  hold  for  good 
The  unvarying  flight  and  fixed  inveterate 
mood. 

In  dream  at  last  his  dozings  merge. 
In  dream  he  reaps  his  victor's  fruit ; 
The  Flags-o'-the-Blue,  the  Flags-o'-the-Red, 
Dipped  flags  of  his  country's  fleets  salute 
His  Flag-o '-the- White  in  harbor  proud — 


[59] 


But  why  should  it  blench?  Why  turn  to  a 
painted  shroud? 

The  hungry  seas  they  hound  the  hull, 
The  sharks  they  dog  the  haglets'  flight ; 
With  one  consent  the  winds,  the  waves 
In  hunt  with  fins  and  wings  unite, 
While  drear  the  harps  in  cordage  sound 
Remindful  wails  for  old  Armadas  drowned. 

Ha — yonder !  are  they  Northern  Lights  ? 
Or  signals  flashed  to  warn  or  ward? 
Yea,  signals  lanced  in  breakers  high ; 
But  doom  on  warning  follows  hard: 
While  yet  they  veer  in  hope  to  shun. 
They  strike !  and  thumps  of  hull  and  heart  are 
one. 

But  beating  hearts  a  diomi-beat  calls 
And  prompt  the  men  to  quarters  go ; 
Discipline,  curbing  nature,  rules — 
Heroic  makes  who  duty  know : 
They  execute  the  trump's  command, 
Or  in  peremptory  places  wait  and  stand. 

Yet  cast  about  in  blind  amaze — 
As  through  their  watery  shroud  they  peer : 

[60] 


"We  tacked  from  land:  then  how  betrayed? 
Have  currents  swerved  us — snared  us  here?" 
None  heed  the  blades  that  clash  m  place 
Under  lamps  dashed  down  that  lit  the 
magnet's  case. 

Ah,  what  may  live,  who  mighty  swim, 
Or  boat-crew  reach  that  shore  forbid, 
Or  cable  span?  JMust  victors  drown — 
Perish,  even  as  the  vanquished  did? 
Man  keeps  from  man  the  stifled  moan ; 
They  shouldering  stand,  yet  each  in  heart 
how  lone. 

Some  heaven  invoke ;  but  rings  of  reefs 
Prayer  and  despair  ahke  deride 
In  dance  of  breakers  forked  or  peaked. 
Pale  maniacs  of  the  maddened  tide ; 
While,  strenuous  yet  some  end  to  earn. 
The  haglets  spin,  though  now  no  more  astern. 

Like  shuttles  hurrying  in  the  looms 
Aloft  through  rigging  frayed  they  ply — 
Cross  and  recross — weave  and  inweave. 
Then  lock  the  web  with  clinching  cry 
Over  the  seas  on  seas  that  clasp 


[61] 


The  weltering  wreck  where  gurghng  ends  the 
gasp. 

Ah,  for  the  Plate-Fleet  trophy  now, 
The  victor's  voucher,  flags  and  arms ; 
Never  they'll  hang  in  Abbey  old 
And  take  Time's  dust  with  holier  palms ; 
Nor  less  content,  in  liquid  night, 
Their  captor  sleeps — the  Admiral  of  the 
White. 

Imbedded  deep  with  shells 

And  drifted  treasure  deep. 

Forever  he  sinks  deeper  in 

Unfathomable  sleep — 

His  cannon  round  him  thrown. 

His  sailors  at  his  feet. 

The  wizard  sea  enchanting  them 

Where  never  haglets  beat. 

On  nights  when  meteors  play 
And  hght  the  breakers  dance. 
The  Oreads  from  the  caves 
With  silverj'^  elves  advance ; 
And  up  from  ocean  stream. 
And  down  from  heaven  far. 
The  rays  that  blend  in  dream 
The  abysm  and  the  star. 

[62] 


THE  AEOLIAN  HARP 

At  The  Surf  Inn 

List  the  harp  in  window  wailing 
Stirred  by  fitful  gales  from  sea : 

Shi'ieking  up  in  mad  crescendo — 
Dying  down  in  plaintive  key  1 

Listen :  less  a  strain  ideal 

Than  Ai'iel's  rendering  of  the  Real. 

What  that  Real  is,  let  hint 

A  picture  stamped  in  memory's  mint. 

Braced  well  up,  with  beams  aslant, 
Betwixt  the  continents  sails  the  Phocion, 
For  Baltimore  bound  from  Alicant. 
Blue  breezy  skies  wliite  fleeces  fleck 
Over  the  chill  blue  white-capped  ocean : 
From  yard-arm  comes — "Wreck  ho,  a 
wreck!" 

Dismasted  and  adrift. 
Longtime  a  thing  forsaken ; 
Ovei-washed  by  eveiy  wave 
Like  the  slumbering  kraken ; 
Heedless  if  the  billow  roar. 
Oblivious  of  the  lull, 

[68] 


Leagues  and  leagues  from  shoal  or  shore, 
It  swims — a  levelled  hull : 
Bulwarks  gone — a  shaven  wreck, 
Nameless  and  a  grass-green  deck. 
A  lumberman :  perchance,  in  hold 
Prostrate  pines  with  hemlocks  rolled. 

It  has  drifted,  waterlogged. 
Till  by  trailing  weeds  beclogged : 

Drifted,  drifted,  day  by  day, 

Pilotless  on  pathless  way. 
It  has  drifted  till  each  plank 
Is  oozy  as  the  oyster-bank : 

Drifted,  drifted,  night  by  night, 

Craft  that  never  shows  a  light ; 
Nor  ever,  to  prevent  worse  knell, 
Tolls  in  fog  the  warning  bell. 

From  collision  never  shrinking. 

Drive  what  may  through  darksome  smother; 

Saturate,  but  never  sinking, " 

Fatal  only  to  the  other! 

Deadlier  than  the  sunken  reef 
Since  still  the  snare  it  shifteth. 

Torpid  in  dumb  ambuscade 
Waylayingly  it  drif  teth. 


[64] 


O,  the  sailors — O,  the  sails ! 

O,  the  lost  crews  never  heard  of ! 

Well  the  harp  of  Ariel  wails 

Thought  that  tongue  can  tell  no  word  of ! 


[65] 


TO  THE  MASTER  OF 
THE  METEOR 

Lonesome  on  earth's  loneliest  deep, 
Sailor!  who  dost  thy  vigil  keep — 
Off  the  Cape  of  Storms  dost  musing  sweep 
Over  monstrous  waves  that  curl  and  comb ; 
Of  thee  we  think  when  here  from  brink 
We  blow  the  mead  in  bubbling  foam. 

Of  thee  we  think,  in  a  ring  we  link; 

To  the  shearer  of  ocean's  fleece  we  drink. 

And  the  Meteor  rolling  home. 


[66] 


FAR  OFF-SHORE 

LooKj  the  raft,  a  signal  flying, 

Thin — a  shred ; 
None  upon  the  lashed  spars  lying, 

Quick  or  dead. 

Cries  the  sea-fowl,  hovering  over, 

"Crew,  the  crew?" 
And  the  billow,  reckless,  rover. 

Sweeps  anew! 


[67] 


THE  MAN-OF-WAR  HAWK 

Yon  black  man-of-war-hawk  that  wheels  in 

the  light 
O'er  the  black  ship's  white  sky-s'l,  sunned 

cloud  to  the  sight, 
Have  we  low-flyers  wings  to  ascend  to  his 

height  ? 
No  arrow  can  reach  him ;  nor  thought  can 

attain 
To  the  placid  supreme  in  the  sweep  of  his 

reign. 


[68] 


THE  FIGURE-HEAD 

The  Charles- and- Emma  seaward  sped, 
(Named  from  the  carven  pair  at  prow,) 
He  so  smart,  and  a  curly  head. 
She  tricked  forth  as  a  bride  knows  how : 
Pretty  stem  for  the  port,  I  trow ! 

But  iron-rust  and  alum-spray 
And  chafing  gear,  and  sun  and  dew 
Vexed  this  lad  and  lassie  gay. 
Tears  in  their  eyes,  salt  tears  nor  few ; 

And  the  hug  relaxed  with  the  faihng  glue. 

But  came  in  end  a  dismal  night. 
With  creaking  beams  and  ribs  that  groan, 
A  black  lee-shore  and  waters  white : 
Dropped  on  the  reef,  the  pair  lie  prone : 
O,  the  breakers  dance,  but  the  winds  they 
moan  I 


[69] 


THE  GOOD  CRAFT 
SNOW  BIRD 

Strenuous  need  that  head-wind  be 

From  purposed  voyage  that  drives  at  last 

The  ship,  sharp-braced  and  dogged  still, 
Beating  up  against  the  blast. 

Brigs  that  figs  for  market  gather. 
Homeward-bound  upon  the  stretch. 

Encounter  oft  this  uglier  weather 
Yet  in  end  their  port  they  fetch. 

Mark  yon  craft  from  sunny  Smyrna 
Glazed  with  ice  in  Boston  Bay; 

Out  they  toss  the  fig-drums  cheerly, 
Livelier  for  the  frosty  ray. 

What  if  sleet  off-shore  assailed  her. 
What  though  ice  yet  plate  her  yards ; 

In  wintiy  port  not  less  she  renders 
Summer's  gift  with  warm  regards ! 

And,  look,  the  underwriters'  man. 
Timely,  when  the  stevedore's  done. 

Puts  on  his  specs  to  pry  and  scan. 
And  sets  her  down — A,  Mo.  1. 

[70] 


Bravo,  master!  Bravo,  brig! 

For  slanting  snows  out  of  the  West 
Never  the  Snow-Bird  cares  one  fig ; 

And  foul  winds  steady  her,  though  a  pest. 


[71] 


OLD  COUNSEL 

Of  The  Young  vM aster  of  a  Wrecked 
California  Clipper 

Come  out  of  the  Golden  Gate, 
Go  round  the  Horn  with  streamers, 

Carry  royals  early  and  late ; 

But,  brother,  be  not  over-elate — 

All  hands  save  ship!  has  startled  dreamers. 


[72] 


THE  TUFT  OF  KELP 

All  dripping  in  tangles  green, 
Cast  up  by  a  lonely  sea 

If  purer  for  that,  O  Weed, 
Bitterer,  too,  are  ye  ? 


[73] 


THE  MALDIVE  SHARK 

About  the  Shark,  phlegmatical  one, 

Pale  sot  of  the  Maldive  sea. 

The  sleek  little  pilot-fish,  azure  and  slim. 

How  alert  in  attendance  be. 

From  his  saw-pit  of  mouth,  from  his  charnel 

of  maw 
They  have  nothing  of  harm  to  dread. 
But  liquidly  glide  on  his  ghastly  flank 
Or  before  his  Gorgonian  head : 
Or  lurk  in  the  port  of  serrated  teeth 
In  white  triple  tiers  of  glittering  gates. 
And  there  find  a  haven  when  peril's  abroad. 
An  asylum  in  jaws  of  the  Fates ! 
They  are  friends ;  and  friendly  they  guide  him 

to  prey, 
Yet  never  partake  of  the  treat — 
EjT^es  and  brains  to  the  dotard  lethargic  and 

dull, 
Pale  ravener  of  horrible  meat. 


[74] 


TO  NED 

Where  is  the  world  we  roved,  Ned  Bunn? 

Hollows  thereof  lay  rich  in  shade 
By  voyagers  old  inviolate  thrown 

Ere  Paul  Pry  cruised  with  Pelf  and  Trade. 
To  us  old  lads  some  thoughts  come  home 
Who  roamed  a  world  young  lads  no  more  shall 
roam. 

Nor  less  the  satiate  year  impends 
When,  wearying  of  routine-resorts. 

The  pleasure-hunter  shall  break  loose, 
Ned,  for  our  Pantheistic  ports : — 

JMarquesas  and  glenned  isles  that  be 

Authentic  Edens  in  a  Pagan  sea. 

The  charm  of  scenes  untried  shall  lure. 
And,  Ned,  a  legend  urge  the  flight — 

The  Typee-truants  under  stars 

Unknown  to  Shakespere's  Midsummer- 
JVight; 

And  man,  if  lost  to  Saturn's  Age, 
et  feeling  life  no  Syrian  pilgrimage. 


Y 


But,  tell,  shall  he,  the  tourist,  find 
Our  isles  the  same  in  violet-glow 

[75] 


Enamoring  us  what  years  and  years — 
Ah,  Ned,  what  years  and  years  ago ! 
Well,  Adam  advances,  smart  in  pace. 
But  scarce  by  violets  that  advance  you  trace. 

But  we,  in  anchor-watches  calm, 
The  Indian  Psyche's  languor  won. 

And,  musing,  breathed  primeval  balm 
From  Edens  ere  yet  overrun; 

Marvelling  mild  if  mortal  twice, 

Here  and  hereafter,  touch  a  Paradise. 


[70] 


CROSSING  THE  TROPICS 

From  "The  Saya-y-Manto." 

While  now  the  Pole  Star  sinks  from  sight 

The  Southern  Cross  it  climbs  the  sky; 
But  losing  thee,  my  love,  my  light, 

0  bride  but  for  one  bridal  night, 
The  loss  no  rising  joys  supply. 

Love,  love,  the  Trade  Winds  urge  abaft, 
And  thee,  from  thee,  the}^  steadfast  waft. 

By  day  the  blue  and  silver  sea 

And  chime  of  waters  blandly  fanned — 
Nor  these,  nor  Gama's  stars  to  me 
May  yield  delight  since  still  for  thee 

I  long  as  Gama  longed  for  land. 

1  yearn,  I  yearn,  reverting  turn, 
My  heart  it  streams  in  wake  astern 
When,  cut  by  slanting  sleet,  we  swoop 

Where  raves  the  world's  inverted  year. 
If  roses  all  your  porch  shall  loop. 
Not  less  your  heart  for  me  will  droop 

Doubling  the  world's  last  outpost  drear. 

O  love,  O  love,  these  oceans  vast : 
Love,  love,  it  is  as  death  were  past ! 

[77] 


THE  BERG 

A.  Dream 

I  SAW  a  ship  of  martial  build 

(Her  standards  set,  her  brave  apparel  on) 

Directed  as  by  madness  mere 

Against  a  stolid  iceberg  steer, 

Nor  budge  it,  though  the  infatuate  ship  went 

down. 
The  impact  made  huge  ice-cubes  fall 
Sullen,  in  tons  that  crashed  the  deck ; 
But  that  one  avalanche  was  all — 
No  other  movement  save  the  foundering 

wreck. 

Along  the  spurs  of  ridges  pale, 

Not  any  slenderest  shaft  and  frail, 

A  prism  over  glass — green  gorges  lone, 

Toppled ;  nor  lace  of  traceries  fine. 

Nor  pendant  drops  in  grot  or  mine 

Were  jarred,  when  the  stunned  ship  went 

down. 
Nor  sole  the  gulls  in  cloud  that  wheeled 
Circling  one  snow-flanked  peak  afar, 
But  nearer  fowl  the  floes  that  skimmed 
And  crystal  beaches,  felt  no  jar. 
No  thrill  transmitted  stirred  the  lock 


[78] 


Of  jack-straw  needle-ice  at  base ; 
Towers  undermined  by  waves — the  block 
Atilt  impending — kept  their  place. 
Seals,  dozing  sleek  on  sliddery  ledges 
Slipt  never,  when  by  loftier  edges 
Through  veiy  inertia  overthrown. 
The  impetuous  ship  in  bafflement  went  down. 
Hard  Berg  (methought) ,  so  cold,  so  vast, 
With  mortal  damps  self-overcast ; 
Exhaling  still  thy  dankish  breath — 
Adrift  dissolving,  bound  for  death; 
Though  lumpish  thou,  a  lumbering  one — 
A  lumbering  lubbard  loitering  slow, 
Impingers  rue  thee  and  go  down. 
Sounding  thy  precipice  below, 
Nor  stir  the  slimy  slug  that  sprawls 
Along  thy  dense  stolidity  of  walls. 


[79] 


THE  ENVIABLE  ISLES 

From  " Rammon." 

Through  storms  you  reach  them  and  from 
stomis  are  free. 
Afar  descried,  the  foremost  drear  in  hue, 
But,  nearer,  green;  and,  on  the  marge,  the  sea 
Makes  thunder  low  and  mist  of  rainbowed 
dew. 

But,  inland,  where  the  sleep  that  folds  the  hills 
A  dreamier  sleep,  the  trance  of  God,  instills — 

On  uplands  hazed,  in  wandering  airs 
aswoon, 
Slow-swaying  palms  salute  love's  cypress  tree 

Adown  in  vale  where  pebbly  runlets  croon 
A  song  to  lull  all  sorrow  and  all  glee. 

Sweet-fern  and  moss  in  many  a  glade  are  here. 
Where,  strewn  in  flocks,  what  cheek-flushed 
myriads  lie 
Dimpling  in  dream — unconscious  slumberers 
mere. 
While  billows  endless  round  the  beaches  die. 


[80] 


PEBBLES 

I 

Though  the  Clerk  of  the  Weather  insist, 

And  lay  down  the  weather-law, 
Pintado  and  gannet  they  wist 
That  the  winds  blow  whither  they  list 
In  tempest  or  flaw. 

II 

Old  are  the  creeds,  but  stale  the  schools, 

Revamped  as  the  mode  may  veer, 
But  Orm  from  the  schools  to  the  beaches 

strays 
And,  finding  a  Conch  hoar  with  time,  he 
delays 

And  reverent  lifts  it  to  ear. 
That  Voice,  pitched  in  far  monotone. 

Shall  it  swerve?  shall  it  deviate  ever? 
The  Seas  have  inspired  it,  and  Truth — 

Truth,  varying  from  sameness  never. 

Ill 

In  hollows  of  the  liquid  hills 

Where  the  long  Blue  Ridges  run. 

The  flattery  of  no  echo  thrills, 
For  echo  the  seas  have  none ; 

Nor  aught  that  gives  man  back  man's  strain- 

The  hope  of  his  heart,  the  dream  in  his  brain. 

[81] 


IV 

On  ocean  where  the  embattled  fleets  repair, 
Man,  suffering  inflictor,  sails  on  sufferance 
there. 

V 
Implacable  I,  the  old  Implacable  Sea: 

Implacable  most  when  most  I  smile  serene — 
Pleased,  not  appeased,  by  myriad  wrecks  in 
me. 

VI 
Curled  in  the  comb  of  yon  billow  Andean, 

Is  it  the  Dragon's  heaven-challenging  crest? 
Elemental  mad  ramping  of  ravening  waters — 
Yet  Christ  on  the  Mount,  and  the  dove  in 
her  nest ! 

VII 
Healed  of  my  hurt,  I  laud  the  inhuman  Sea — 
Yea,  bless  the  Angels  Four  that  there  convene ; 
For  healed  I  am  ever  by  their  pitiless  breath 
Distilled  in  wholesome  dew  named  rosmarine. 


[82] 


POEMS   FROM 
TIMOLEON 


LINES  TRACED  UNDER  AN 

IMAGE  OF  AMOR 

THREATENING 

Fear  me,  virgin  whosoever 
Taking  pride  from  love  exempt, 

Fear  me,  slighted.  Never,  never 
Brave  me,  nor  my  fury  tempt : 
Downy  wings,  but  wroth  they  beat 
Tempest  even  in  reason's  seat. 


[85] 


THE  NIGHT  MARCH 

With  banners  furled  and  clarions  mute, 
An  army  passes  in  the  night ; 

And  beaming  spears  and  helms  salute 
The  dark  with  bright. 

In  silence  deep  the  legions  stream, 
With  open  ranks,  in  order  true ; 

Over  boundless  plains  they  stream  and 
gleam — 
No  chief  in  view ! 


Afar,  in  twinkling  distance  lost, 


( So  legends  tell)  he  lonely  wends 
nd  back  through  all  1 
His  mandate  sends. 


And  back  through  all  that  shining  host 


[86] 


THE  RAVAGED  VILLA 

In  shards  the  sylvan  vases  lie, 

Their  links  of  dance  undone, 
And  brambles  wither  by  thy  brim. 

Choked  fomitain  of  the  sun! 
The  spider  in  the  laurel  spins. 

The  weed  exiles  the  flower : 
And,  flung  to  kiln,  Apollo's  bust 

Makes  lime  for  Mammon's  tower. 


[87] 


THE  NEW  ZEALOT 

TO  THE  SUN 

Persian  J  you  rise 

Aflame  from  climes  of  sacrifice 

Where  adulators  sue, 
And  prostrate  man,  with  brow  abased, 
Adheres  to  rites  whose  tenor  traced 

All  worship  hitherto. 

Arch  type  of  sway. 
Meetly  your  over-ruling  ray 

You  fling  from  Asia's  plain, 
Whence  flashed  the  javelins  abroad 
Of  many  a  wild  incursive  horde 

Led  by  some  shepherd  Cain. 

Mid  terrors  dinned 
Gods  too  came  conquerors  from  your  Ind, 

The  book  of  Brahma  throve ; 
They  came  like  to  the  scj^thed  car. 
Westward  tliey  rolled  their  empire  far, 

Of  night  their  purple  wove. 

Chemist,  you  breed 
In  orient  climes  each  sorcerous  weed 
That  enerffizes  dream — 

[88] 


Transmitted,  spread  in  myths  and  creeds, 
Houris  and  hells,  delirious  screeds 
And  Calvin's  last  extreme. 

What  though  your  light 
In  time's  first  dawn  compelled  the  flight 

Of  Chaos'  startled  clan, 
Shall  never  all  your  darted  spears 
Disperse  worse  Anarchs,  frauds  and  fears, 

Sprung  from  these  weeds  to  man? 

But  Science  yet 
An  effluence  ampler  shall  beget, 

And  power  beyond  your  play — 
Shall  quell  the  shades  you  fail  to  rout, 
Yea,  searching  every  secret  out 

Elucidate  your  ray. 


[89] 


MONODY 

To  have  knoAvn  him,  to  have  loved  him 

After  loneness  long ; 
And  then  to  be  estranged  in  life, 

And  neither  in  the  wrong ; 
And  now  for  death  to  set  his  seal — 

Ease  me,  a  little  ease,  my  song! 

By  wintiy  hills  his  hermit-mound 
The  sheeted  snow-di'ifts  drape. 

And  houseless  there  the  snow-bird  flits 
Beneath  the  fir-trees'  crape : 

Glazed  now  with  ice  the  cloistral  vine 
That  hid  the  shyest  grape. 


[90] 


LONE  FOUNTS 

Though  fast  youth's  glorious  fable  flies, 
View  not  the  world  with  worldling's  eyes ; 
Nor  turn  with  weather  of  the  time. 
Foreclose  the  coming  of  surprise : 
Stand  where  Posterity  shall  stand ; 
Stand  where  the  Ancients  stood  before, 
And,  dipping  in  lone  founts  thy  hand. 
Drink  of  the  never-varying  lore : 
Wise  once,  and  wise  thence  evermore. 


[91] 


THE  BENCH  OF  BOORS 

In  bed  I  muse  on  Tenier's  boors, 
Embrowned  and  beerj'^  losels  all ; 

A  wakeful  brain 

Elaborates  pain: 
Within  low  doors  the  slugs  of  boors 
Laze  and  yawn  and  doze  again. 

In  dreams  they  doze,  the  drowsy  boors, 
Their  hazy  hovel  warm  and  small : 

Thought's  ampler  bound 

But  chill  is  found : 
Within  low  doors  the  basking  boors 
Snugly  hug  the  ember-mound. 

Sleepless,  I  see  the  slumberous  boors 
Their  blurred  eyes  blink,  their  eyelids  fall : 

Thought's  eager  sight 

Aches — overb  right ! 
Within  low  doors  the  boozy  boors 
Cat-naps  take  in  pipe-bowl  light. 


[92] 


ART 

In  placid  hours  well-pleased  we  dream 
Of  many  a  brave  mibodied  scheme. 
But  form  to  lend,  pulsed  life  create, 
What  unlike  things  must  meet  and  mate ; 
A  flame  to  melt — a  wind  to  freeze ; 
Sad  patience — joyous  energies; 
Humility — yet  pride  and  scorn ; 
Instinct  and  study ;  love  and  hate ; 
Audacity — reverence.  These  must  mate, 
And  fuse  with  Jacob's  mystic  heart, 
To  wrestle  with  the  angel — Art. 


[93] 


THE  ENTHUSIAST 

"Though  He  slay  me  yet  xvill  I  trust  in  Him." 

Shall  hearts  that  beat  no  base  retreat 
In  youth's  magnanimous  years — 

Ignoble  hold  it,  if  discreet 

When  interest  tames  to  fears ; 

Shall  spirits  that  worship  light 
Perfidious  deem  its  sacred  glow, 
Recant,  and  trudge  where  worldlings  go, 

Conform  and  own  them  right  ? 

Shall  Time  with  creeping  influence  cold 

Unnerve  and  cow?  the  heart 
Pine  for  the  heartless  ones  enrolled 

With  palterers  of  the  mart? 
Shall  faith  abjure  her  skies. 

Or  pale  probation  blench  her  down 

To  shrink  from  Truth  so  still,  so  lone 
]Mid  loud  gregarious  lies? 


[94] 


Each  burning  boat  in  Caesar's  rear, 
Flames — No  return  through  me ! 

So  put  the  torch  to  ties  though  dear, 
If  ties  but  tempters  be. 

Nor  cringe  if  come  the  night : 

Walk  through  the  cloud  to  meet  the  pall, 
Though  light  forsake  thee,  never  fall 

From  fealty  to  light. 


[95] 


SHELLEY'S  VISION 

Wandering  late  by  morning  seas 

When  my  heart  with  pain  was  low- 
Hate  the  censor  pelted  me — 
Deject  I  saw  my  shadow  go. 

In  elf-caprice  of  bitter  tone 
I  too  would  pelt  the  pelted  one : 
At  my  shadow  I  cast  a  stone. 

When  lo,  upon  that  sun-lit  ground 
I  saw  the  quivering  phantom  take 

The  likeness  of  St.  Stephen  crowned : 
Then  did  self -reverence  awake. 


[96] 


THE  MARCHIONESS 
OF  BRINVILLIERS 

He  toned  the  sprightly  beam  of  morning 
With  twihght  meek  of  tender  eve, 

Brightness  interfused  with  softness, 
Light  and  shade  did  weave : 

And  gave  to  candor  equal  place 

With  mystery  starred  in  open  skies ; 

And,  floating  all  in  sweetness,  made 
Her  fathomless  mild  eyes. 


[97] 


THE    AGE    OF    THE 
ANTONINES 

While  faith  forecasts  millennial  years 

Spite  Europe's  embattled  lines, 
Back  to  the  Past  one  glance  be  cast — 

The  Age  of  the  Antonines ! 
O  sunmiit  of  fate,  O  zenith  of  time 
When  a  pagan  gentleman  reigned. 
And  the  olive  was  nailed  to  the  inn  of  the 

world 
IS'or  the  peace  of  the  just  was  feigned. 

A  halcyon  Age,  afar  it  shines. 

Solstice  of  Man  and  the  Antonines. 

Hymns  to  the  nations'  friendly  gods 

Went  up  from  the  fellowly  shrines, 

No  demagogue  beat  the  pulpit-drum 
In  the  Age  of  the  Antonines ! 

The  sting  was  not  dreamed  to  be  taken  from 
death, 

No  Paradise  pledged  or  sought, 

But  they  reasoned  of  fate  at  the  flowing  feast. 

Nor  stifled  the  fluent  thought. 

We  sham,  we  shuffle  while  faith  declines — 
They  were  frank  in  the  Age  of  the 
Antonines. 

[98] 


Orders  and  ranks  they  kept  degree, 

Few  felt  how  the  parvenu  pines, 

No  law-maker  took  the  lawless  one's  fee 
In  the  Age  of  the  Antonines ! 

Under  law  made  will  the  world  reposed 

And  the  ruler's  right  confessed, 

For  the  heavens  elected  the  Emperor  then, 

The  foremost  of  men  the  best. 

Ah,  might  we  read  in  America's  signs 
The  Age  restored  of  the  Antonines. 


[99] 


HERBA  SANTA 

I 

Aftek  long  wars  when  comes  release 
Not  olive  wands  proclaiming  peace 

Can  import  dearer  share 
Than  stems  of  Herba  Santa  hazed 

In  autumn's  Indian  air. 
Of  moods  they  breathe  that  care  disarm, 
They  pledge  us  lenitive  and  calm. 

II 

Shall  code  or  creed  a  lure  afford 
To  win  all  selves  to  Love's  accord? 
When  Love  ordained  a  supper  divine 

For  the  wide  world  of  man, 
What  bickerings  o'er  his  gracious  wine ! 

Then  strange  new  feuds  began. 

Effectual  more  in  lowlier  way, 
Pacific  Herb,  thy  sensuous  plea 

The  bristling  clans  of  Adam  sway 
At  least  to  fellowship  in  thee ! 

Before  thine  altar  tribal  flags  are  furled, 

Fain  wouldst  thou  make  one  hearthstone  of 
the  world. 


[100] 


Ill 

To  scythe,  to  sceptre,  pen  and  hod — 

Yea,  sodden  laborers  dumb ; 
To  brains  overplied,  to  feet  that  plod, 
In  solace  of  the  Truce  of  God 

The  Calumet  has  come ! 

IV 

Ah  for  the  world  ere  Raleigh's  find 
Never  that  knew  this  suasive  balm 

That  helps  when  Gilead's  fails  to  heal. 
Helps  by  an  interserted  charm. 

Insinuous  thou  that  through  the  nerve 
Windest  the  soul,  and  so  canst  win 

Some  from  repinings,  some  from  sin. 
The  Church's  aim  thou  dost  subserve. 

The  ruffled  fag  fordone  with  care 

And  brooding,  God  would  ease  this  pain : 

Him  soothest  thou  and  smoothest  down 
Till  some  content  return  again. 

Even  ruffians  feel  thy  influence  breed 
Saint  Martin's  summer  in  the  mind. 
They  feel  this  last  evangel  plead. 


[101] 


As  did  the  first,  apart  from  creed, 
Be  peaceful,  man — be  kind ! 

V 

Rejected  once  on  higher  plain, 
O  Love  supreme,  to  come  again 

Can  this  be  thine? 
Again  to  come,  and  win  us  too 

In  likeness  of  a  weed 
That  as  a  god  didst  vainly  woo. 

As  man  more  vainly  bleed? 

VI 

Forbear,  my  soul!  and  in  thine  Eastern 
chamber 
Rehearse  the  dream  that  brings  the  long 
release : 
Through  jasmine  sweet  and  talismanic  amber 
Inhaling  Herba  Santa  in  the  passive  Pipe 
of  Peace. 


[102] 


OFF  CAPE  COLONNA 

Aloof  they  crown  the  foreland  lone, 
From  aloft  they  loftier  rise — 

Fair  columns,  in  the  aureole  rolled 
From  sunned  Greek  seas  and  skies. 

They  wax,  sublimed  to  fancy's  view, 

A  god-like  group  against  the  blue. 

Over  much  like  gods !  Serene  they  saw 
The  wolf- waves  board  the  deck, 

And  headlong  hull  of  Falconer, 
And  many  a  deadlier  wreck. 


[103] 


THE  APPARITION 

The  Parthenon  uplifted  on  its  rock  first  challenging 
the  viexv  on  the  approach  to  Athens. 

Abrupt  the  supernatural  Cross, 

Vivid  in  startled  air, 
Smote  the  Emperor  Constantine 
And  turned  his  soul's  allegiance  there. 

With  other  power  appealing  down, 

Trophy  of  Adam's  best ! 
If  cynic  minds  you  scarce  convert, 
You  try  them,  shake  them,  or  molest. 

Diogenes,  that  honest  heart, 

Lived  ere  your  date  began ; 
Thee  had  he  seen,  he  might  have  swerved 
In  mood  nor  barked  so  much  at  Man. 


[104] 


L'ENVOI 

The  Return  of  the  Sire  de  JVesle. 
A.D.  16 — 

My  towers  at  last !  These  rovings  end, 
Their  thirst  is  slaked  in  larger  dearth : 
The  yearning  infinite  recoils, 
For  terrible  is  earth. 

Kaf  thrusts  his  snouted  crags  through  fog : 
Araxes  swells  beyond  his  span. 
And  knowledge  poured  by  pilgrimage 
Overflows  the  banks  of  man. 

But  thou,  my  stay,  thy  lasting  love 
One  lonely  good,  let  this  but  be ! 
Weary  to  view  the  wide  world's  swarm, 
But  blest  to  fold  but  thee. 


[105] 


SUPPLEMENT 


SUPPLEMENT 

WERE  I  fastidiously  anxious  for  the  sym- 
metry of  this  book,  it  would  close  with  the 
notes.  But  the  times  are  such  that  patriotism — 
not  free  from  solicitude — urges  a  claim  over- 
riding all  literary  scruples. 

It  is  more  than  a  year  since  the  memorable 
surrender,  but  events  have  not  yet  rounded 
themselves  into  completion.  Not  justly  can  we 
complain  of  this.  There  has  been  an  upheaval 
affecting  the  basis  of  things;  to  altered  cir- 
cumstances complicated  adaptations  are  to  be 
made;  there  are  difficulties  great  and  novel. 
But  is  Reason  still  waiting  for  Passion  to 
spend  itself  ?  We  have  sung  of  the  soldiers  and 
sailors,  but  who  shall  hymn  the  politicians? 

In  view  of  the  infinite  desirableness  of  Re- 
establishment,  and  considering  that,  so  far  as 
feeling  is  concerned,  it  depends  not  mainly  on 
the  temper  in  which  the  South  regards  the 
North,  but  rather  conversely;  one  who  never 
was  a  blind  adherent  feels  constrained  to  sub- 


[109] 


mit  some  thoughts,  counting  on  the  indulgence 
of  his  countrymen. 

And,  first,  it  may  be  said  that,  if  among  the 
f  eehngs  and  opinions  growing  immediately  out 
of  a  great  civil  convulsion,  there  are  any  wliich 
time  shall  modify  or  do  away,  they  are  pre- 
sumably those  of  a  less  temperate  and  charita- 
ble cast. 

There  seems  no  reason  why  patriotism  and 
narrowness  should  go  together,  or  why  intel- 
lectual impartiality  should  be  confounded  ^vith 
political  trimming,  or  why  serviceable  truth 
should  keep  cloistered  because  not  partisan. 
Yet  the  work  of  Reconstruction,  if  admitted 
to  be  feasible  at  all,  demands  little  but  common 
sense  and  Christian  charity.  Little  but  these? 
These  are  much. 

Some  of  us  are  concerned  because  as  yet  the 
South  shows  no  penitence.  But  what  exactly 
do  we  mean  by  this?  Since  down  to  the  close 
of  the  war  she  never  confessed  any  for  braving 
it,  the  only  penitence  now  left  her  is  that  which 
springs  solely  from  the  sense  of  discomfiture ; 
and  since  this  evidently  would  be  a  contrition 
hypocritical,  it  would  be  imworthy  in  us  to 
demand  it.  Certain  it  is  that  penitence,  in  the 


[110] 


sense  of  voluntary  humiliation,  will  never  be 
displayed.  Nor  does  tliis  afford  just  ground 
for  unreserved  condemnation.  It  is  enough, 
for  all  practical  purposes,  if  the  South  have 
been  taught  by  the  terrors  of  civil  war  to  feel 
that  Secession,  like  Slavery,  is  against  Des- 
tiny; that  both  now  lie  buried  in  one  grave; 
that  her  fate  is  linked  with  ours ;  and  that  to- 
gether we  comprise  the  Nation. 

The  clouds  of  heroes  who  battled  for  the 
Union  it  is  needless  to  eulogize  here.  But  how 
of  the  soldiers  on  the  other  side?  And  when  of 
a  free  community  we  name  the  soldiers,  we 
thereby  name  the  people.  It  was  in  subservi- 
ency to  the  slave-interest  that  Secession  was 
plotted;  but  it  was  under  the  plea,  plausibly 
urged,  that  certain  inestimable  rights  guaran- 
teed by  the  Constitution  were  directly  men- 
aced, that  the  people  of  the  South  were  cajoled 
into  revolution.  Through  the  arts  of  the  con- 
spirators and  the  perversity  of  fortune,  the 
most  sensitive  love  of  liberty  was  entrapped 
into  the  support  of  a  war  whose  implied  end 
was  the  erecting  in  our  advanced  century  of 
an  Anglo-American  empire  based  upon  the 
systematic  degradation  of  man. 


[Ill] 


Spite  this  clinging  reproach,  however,  signal 
military  virtues  and  achievements  have  con- 
ferred upon  the  Confederate  arms  historic 
fame,  and  upon  certain  of  the  commanders  a 
renown  extending  beyond  the  sea — a  renown 
which  we  of  the  North  could  not  suppress, 
even  if  we  would.  In  personal  character,  also, 
not  a  few  of  the  military  leaders  of  the  South 
enforce  forbearance ;  the  memoiy  of  others  the 
North  refrains  from  disparaging;  and  some, 
with  more  or  less  of  reluctance,  she  can  respect. 
Posterity,  sympathizing  with  our  convictions, 
but  removed  from  our  passions,  may  perhaps 
go  farther  here.  If  George  IV  could,  out  of 
the  graceful  instinct  of  a  gentleman,  raise  an 
honorable  monument  in  the  great  fane  of 
Christendom  over  the  remains  of  the  enemy  of 
his  dynasty,  Charles  Edward,  the  invader  of 
England  and  victor  in  the  rout  of  Preston 
Pans — upon  whose  head  the  king's  ancestor 
but  one  reign  removed  had  set  a  price — is  it 
probable  that  the  granchildi'en  of  General 
Grant  will  pursue  with  rancor,  or  slur  by  sour 
neglect,  the  memory  of  Stonewall  Jackson? 

But  the  South  herself  is  not  wanting  in  re- 
cent histories  and  biographies  which  record  the 


[112] 


deeds  of  her  chieftains — writings  freely  pub- 
lished at  the  North  by  loyal  houses,  widely  read 
here,  and  with  a  deep  though  saddened  inter- 
est. By  students  of  the  war  such  works  are 
hailed  as  welcome  accessories,  and  tending  to 
the  completeness  of  the  record. 

Supposing  a  happy  issue  out  of  present  per- 
plexities, then,  in  the  generation  next  to  come, 
Southerners  there  will  be  yielding  allegiance 
to  the  Union,  feeling  all  their  interests  bound 
up  in  it,  and  yet  cherishing  unrebuked  that 
kind  of  feeling  for  the  memory  of  the  soldiers 
of  the  fallen  Confederacy  that  Burns,  Scott, 
and  the  Ettrick  Shepherd  felt  for  the  memory 
of  the  gallant  clansmen  ruined  through  their 
fidelity  to  the  Stuarts — a  feeling  whose  pas- 
sion was  tempered  by  the  poetry  imbuing  it, 
and  which  in  no  wise  affected  their  loyalty  to 
the  Georges,  and  which,  it  may  be  added,  indi- 
rectly contributed  excellent  things  to  litera- 
ture. But,  setting  this  view  aside,  dishonorable 
would  it  be  in  the  South  were  she  willing  to 
abandon  to  shame  the  memory  of  brave  men 
who  with  signal  personal  disinterestedness 
warred  in  her  behalf,  though  from  motives,  as 
we  believe,  so  deplorably  astray. 


[113] 


Patriotism  is  not  baseness,  neither  is  it  inhu- 
manity. The  mourners  who  this  sunmier  bear 
flowers  to  the  mounds  of  the  Virginian  and 
Georgian  dead  are,  in  their  domestic  bereave- 
ment and  proud  affection,  as  sacred  in  the  eye 
of  Heaven  as  are  those  who  go  with  similar  of- 
ferings of  tender  gi'ief  and  love  into  the  ceme- 
teries of  our  Northern  martyrs.  And  yet,  in  one 
aspect,  how  needless  to  point  the  contrast. 

Cherishing  such  sentiments,  it  will  hardly 
occasion  surprise  that,  in  looking  over  the  bat- 
tle-pieces in  the  foregoing  collection,  I  have 
been  tempted  to  withdraw  or  modify  some  of 
them,  fearful  lest  in  presenting,  though  but 
dramatically  and  by  way  of  poetic  record,  the 
passions  and  epithets  of  civil  war,  I  might  be 
contributing  to  a  bitterness  which  eveiy  sensi- 
ble American  must  wish  at  an  end.  So,  too, 
with  the  emotion  of  victory  as  reproduced  on 
some  pages,  and  particularly  toward  the  close. 
It  should  not  be  construed  into  an  exultation 
misapplied — an  exultation  as  ungenerous  as 
unwise,  and  made  to  minister,  however  indi- 
rectly, to  that  kind  of  censoriousness  too  apt 
to  be  produced  in  certain  natures  by  success 
after  trying  reverses.  Zeal  is  not  of  necessity 


[114] 


religion,  neither  is  it  always  of  the  same  essence 
with  poetry  or  patriotism. 

There  are  excesses  which  marked  the  con- 
flict, most  of  which  are  perhaps  inseparable 
from  a  civil  strife  so  intense  and  prolonged, 
and  involving  warfare  in  some  border  coun- 
tries new  and  imperfectly  civilized.  Barbarities 
also  there  were,  for  which  the  Southern  people 
collectively  can  hardly  be  held  responsible, 
though  perpetrated  by  ruffians  in  their  name. 
But  surely  other  qualities — exalted  ones — 
courage  and  fortitude  matchless,  were  likewise 
displayed,  and  largely;  and  justly  may  these 
be  held  the  characteristic  traits,  and  not  the 
former. 

In  this  view,  what  Northern  writer,  how- 
ever patriotic,  but  must  revolt  from  acting  on 
paper  a  part  any  way  akin  to  that  of  the  live 
dog  to  the  dead  lion;  and  yet  it  is  right  to 
rejoice  for  our  triumphs,  so  far  as  it  may  just- 
ly imply  an  advance  for  our  whole  country  and 
for  humanity. 

Let  it  be  held  no  reproach  to  any  one  that 
he  pleads  for  reasonable  consideration  for  our 
late  enemies,  now  stricken  down  and  unavoid- 
ably debarred,  for  the  time,  from  speaking 


[115] 


through  authorized  agencies  for  themselves. 
Nothing  has  been  urged  here  in  the  fooHsh 
hope  of  conciHating  those  men — few  in  num- 
ber, we  trust — who  have  resolved  never  to  be 
reconciled  to  the  Union.  On  such  hearts  every- 
thing is  thrown  away  except  it  be  religious 
commiseration,  and  the  sincerest.  Yet  let  them 
call  to  mind  that  unhappy  Secessionist,  not  a 
military  man,  who  with  impious  alacrity  fired 
the  first  shot  of  the  Civil  War  at  Sumter,  and 
a  little  more  than  four  years  afterward  fired 
the  last  one  into  his  heart  at  Riclmiond. 

Noble  was  the  gesture  into  which  patriotic 
passion  surprised  the  people  in  a  utilitarian 
time  and  country;  yet  the  glory  of  the  war 
falls  short  of  its  pathos — a  pathos  which  now 
at  last  ought  to  disarm  all  animosity. 

How  many  and  earnest  thoughts  still  rise, 
and  how  hard  to  repress  them.  We  feel  what 
past  years  have  been,  and  years,  unretarded 
years,  shall  come.  May  we  all  have  modera- 
tion; may  we  all  show  candor.  Though,  per- 
haps, nothing  could  ultimately'  have  averted 
the  strife,  and  though  to  treat  of  hmnan  actions 
is  to  deal  wholly  with  second  causes,  neverthe- 
less,  let  us  not  cover  up  or  try  to  extenuate 


[116] 


what,  humanly  speaking,  is  the  truth — name- 
ly, that  those  unfraternal  denunciations,  con- 
tinued through  years,  and  which  at  last  in- 
flamed to  deeds  that  ended  in  bloodshed,  were 
reciprocal;  and  that,  had  the  preponderating 
strength  and  the  prospect  of  its  unlimited  in- 
crease lain  on  the  other  side,  on  ours  might 
have  lain  those  actions  which  now  in  our  late 
opponents  we  stigmatize  under  the  name  of 
Rebellion.  As  frankly  let  us  own — what  it 
would  be  unbecoming  to  parade  were  foreign- 
ers concerned — that  our  triumph  was  won  not 
more  by  skill  and  bravery  than  by  superior 
resources  and  crushing  numbers ;  that  it  was  a 
triumph,  too,  over  a  people  for  years  politic- 
ally misled  by  designing  men,  and  also  by  some 
honestly-erring  men,  who  from  their  position 
could  not  have  been  otherwise  than  broadly  in- 
fluential; a  people  who,  though,  indeed,  they 
sought  to  perpetuate  the  curse  of  slavery,  and 
even  extend  it,  were  not  the  authors  of  it,  but 
(less  fortunate,  not  less  righteous  than  we), 
were  the  fated  inheritors ;  a  people  who,  having 
a  like  origin  with  ourselves,  share  essentially 
in  whatever  worthy  qualities  we  may  possess. 
No  one  can  add  to  the  lasting  reproach  which 


[117] 


(/ 


hopeless  defeat  has  now  cast  upon  Secession  by- 
withholding  the  recognition  of  these  verities. 

Surely  we  ought  to  take  it  to  heart  that  that 
kind  of  pacification,  based  upon  principles 
operating  equally  all  over  the  land,  which 
lovers  of  their  country  yearn  for,  and  which 
our  arms,  though  signally  triumphant,  did  not 
bring  about,  and  which  lawmaking,  however 
anxious,  or  energetic,  or  repressive,  never  by 
itself  can  achieve,  may  yet  be  largely  aided 
by  generosity  of  sentiment  public  and  private. 
Some  revisionary  legislation  and  adaptive  is 
indispensable;  but  with  this  should  harmoni- 
ously work  another  kind  of  prudence,  not  vm- 
allied  with  entire  magnanimity.  Benevolence 
and  policy — Christianity  and  Machiavelli — 
dissuade  from  penal  severities  toward  the  sub- 
dued. Abstinence  here  is  as  obligatory  as  con- 
siderate care  for  our  unfortunate  fellowmen 
late  in  bonds,  and,  if  observed,  would  equally 
prove  to  be  wise  forecast.  The  great  qualities 
of  the  South,  those  attested  in  the  War,  we  can 
perilously  alienate,  or  we  may  make  them  na- 
tionally available  at  need. 

The  blacks,  in  their  infant  pupilage  to  free- 
dom, appeal  to  the  sympathies  of  every  hu- 


[118] 


mane  mind.  The  paternal  guardianship  which 
for  the  interval  government  exercises  over 
them  was  prompted  equally  by  duty  and  be- 
nevolence. Yet  such  kindhness  should  not  be 
allowed  to  exclude  kindliness  to  communities 
who  stand  nearer  to  us  in  nature.  For  the 
future  of  the  freed  slaves  we  may  well  be  con- 
cerned; but  the  future  of  the  whole  country, 
involving  the  future  of  the  blacks,  urges  a 
paramount  claim  upon  our  anxiety.  Effective 
benignity,  like  the  Nile,  is  not  narrow  in  its 
bounty,  and  true  pohcy  is  always  broad.  To  be 
sure,  it  is  vain  to  seek  to  glide,  with  moulded 
words,  over  the  difficulties  of  the  situation. 
And  for  them  who  are  neither  partisans,  nor 
enthusiasts,  nor  theorists,  nor  cynics,  there  are 
some  doubts  not  readily  to  be  solved.  And  there 
are  fears.  Why  is  not  the  cessation  of  war  now 
at  length  attended  with  the  settled  calm  of 
peace?  Wherefore  in  a  clear  sky  do  we  still 
turn  our  eyes  toward  the  South  as  the  Nea- 
politan, months  after  the  eruption,  turns  his 
toward  Vesuvius  ?  Do  we  dread  lest  the  repose 
may  be  deceptive  ?  In  the  recent  convulsion  has 
the  crater  but  shifted?  Let  us  revere  that  sacred 
uncertainty  which  forever  impends  over  men 


[119] 


and  nations.  Those  of  us  who  always  abhorred 
slavery  as  an  atheistical  iniquity,  gladly  we 
join  in  the  exulting  chorus  of  humanity  over 
its  downfall.  But  we  should  remember  that 
emancipation  was  accomplished  not  by  delib- 
erate legislation;  only  through  agonized  vio- 
lence could  so  mighty  a  result  be  effected.  In 
our  natural  solicitude  to  confirm  the  benefit  of 
liberty  to  the  blacks,  let  us  forbear  from  meas- 
ures of  dubious  constitutional  rightfulness  to- 
ward our  white  countrymen — measures  of  a  na- 
ture to  provoke,  among  other  of  the  last  evils, 
exterminating  hatred  of  race  toward  race.  In 
imagination  let  us  place  ourselves  in  the  un- 
precedented position  of  the  Southerners — their 
position  as  regards  the  millions  of  ignorant 
manumitted  slaves  in  their  midst,  for  whom 
some  of  us  now  claim  the  suffrage.  Let  us  be 
Christians  toward  our  fellow-whites,  as  well 
as  philanthropists  toward  the  blacks,  our  fel- 
low-men. In  all  things,  and  toward  all,  we  are 
enjoined  to  do  as  we  would  be  done  by.  Nor 
should  we  forget  that  benevolent  desires,  after 
passing  a  certain  point,  can  not  undei-take  their 
own  fulfillment  without  incurring  the  risk  of 
evils  beyond  those  sought  to  be  remedied. 


[120] 


Something  may  well  be  left  to  the  graduated 
care  of  future  legislation,  and  to  heaven.  In 
one  point  of  view  the  co-existence  of  the  two 
races  in  the  South,  whether  the  negro  be  bond 
or  free,  seems  (even  as  it  did  to  Abraham  Lin- 
coln) a  grave  evil.  Emancipation  has  ridded 
the  country  of  the  reproach,  but  not  wholly  of 
the  calamity.  Especially  in  the  present  trans- 
ition period  for  both  races  in  the  South,  more 
or  less  of  trouble  may  not  unreasonably  be  an- 
ticipated ;  but  let  us  not  hereafter  be  too  swift 
to  charge  the  blame  exclusively  in  any  one 
quarter.  With  certain  evils  men  must  be  more 
or  less  patient.  Our  institutions  have  a  potent 
digestion,  and  may  in  time  convert  and  assimi- 
late to  good  all  elements  thrown  in,  however 
originally  alien. 

But,  so  far  as  immediate  measures  looking 
toward  permanent  Re-establishment  are  con- 
cerned, no  consideration  should  tempt  us  to 
pervert  the  national  victory  into  oppression 
for  the  vanquished.  Should  plausible  promise 
of  eventual  good,  or  a  deceptive  or  spurious 
sense  of  duty,  lead  us  to  essay  this,  count  we 
must  on  serious  consequences,  not  the  least  of 
which  would  be  divisions  among  the  Northern 


[121] 


adherents  of  the  Union.  Assuredly,  if  any  hon- 
est Catos  there  be  who  thus  far  have  gone  with 
us,  no  longer  will  they  do  so,  but  oppose  us, 
and  as  resolutely  as  hitherto  they  have  sup- 
ported. But  this  path  of  thought  leads  toward 
those  waters  of  bitterness  from  which  one  can 
only  turn  aside  and  be  silent. 

But  supposing  Re-establishment  so  far  ad- 
vanced that  the  Southern  seats  in  Congress  are 
occupied,  and  by  men  qualified  in  accordance 
with  those  cardinal  principles  of  representa- 
tive government  which  hitherto  have  prevailed 
in  the  land — what  then?  Why,  the  Congress- 
men elected  by  the  people  of  the  South  will — 
represent  the  people  of  the  South.  This  may 
seem  a  flat  conclusion;  but,  in  view  of  the  last 
five  years,  may  there  not  be  latent  signifi- 
cance in  it  ?  What  will  be  the  temper  of  those 
Southern  members?  and,  confronted  bj''  them, 
what  will  be  the  mood  of  our  own  representa- 
tives ?  In  private  life  true  reconciliation  seldom 
follows  a  violent  quarrel;  but,  if  subsequent 
intercourse  be  unavoidable,  nice  observances 
and  mutual  are  indispensable  to  the  preven- 
tion of  a  new  rupture.  Amity  itself  can  only 
be  maintained  bj^  reciprocal  respect,  and  true 


[122] 


friends  are  punctilious  equals.  On  the  floor  of 
Congress  North  and  South  are  to  come  to- 
gether after  a  passionate  duel,  in  which  the 
South,  though  proving  her  valor,  has  been 
made  to  bite  the  dust.  Upon  differences  in 
debate  shall  acrimonious  recriminations  be  ex- 
changed? Shall  censorious  superiority  assumed 
by  one  section  provoke  defiant  self-assertion 
on  the  other?  Shall  Manassas  and  Chicka- 
mauga  be  retorted  for  Chattanooga  and  Rich- 
mond? Under  the  supposition  that  the  full 
Congress  will  be  composed  of  gentlemen,  all 
this  is  impossible.  Yet,  if  otherwise,  it  needs 
no  prophet  of  Israel  to  foretell  the  end.  The 
maintenance  of  Congressional  decency  in  the 
future  will  rest  mainly  with  the  North.  Right- 
ly will  more  forbearance  be  required  from  the 
North  than  the  South,  for  the  North  is  victor. 
But  some  there  are  who  may  deem  these  lat- 
ter thoughts  inapplicable,  and  for  this  reason : 
Since  the  test-oath  operatively  excludes  from 
Congress  all  who  in  any  way  participated  in 
Secession,  therefore  none  but  Southerners 
wholly  in  harmony  with  the  North  are  eligible 
to  seats.  This  is  true  for  the  time  being.  But 
the  oath  is  alterable ;  and  in  the  wonted  fluctu- 


[123] 


ations  of  parties  not  improbably  it  will  under- 
go alteration,  assuming  such  a  form,  perhaps, 
as  not  to  bar  the  admission  into  the  National 
Legislature  of  men  who  represent  the  popula- 
tions lately  in  revolt.  Such  a  result  would  in- 
volve no  violation  of  the  principles  of  demo- 
cratic government.  Not  readily  can  one  per- 
ceive how  the  political  existence  of  the  millions 
of  late  Secessionists  can  permanently  be  ig- 
nored by  this  Republic.  The  years  of  the  war 
tried  our  devotion  to  the  Union;  the  time  of 
peace  may  test  the  sincerity  of  our  faith  in 
democracy. 

In  no  spirit  of  opposition,  not  by  way  of 
challenge,  is  anything  here  thrown  out.  These 
thoughts  are  sincere  ones ;  thev  seem  natural — 
inevitable.  Here  and  there  thej^  must  have  sug- 
gested themselves  to  many  thoughtful  patri- 
ots. And,  if  they  be  just  thoughts,  ere  long 
they  must  have  that  weight  with  the  public 
which  already  they  have  had  with  individuals. 

For  that  heroic  band — those  children  of  the 
furnace  who,  in  regions  like  Texas  and  Ten- 
nessee, maintained  their  fidelity  through  ter- 
rible trials — we  of  the  North  felt  for  them, 
and  profoundly  we  honor  them.  Yet  passion- 


[124] 


ate  sympathy,  with  resentments  so  close  as  to 
be  ahnost  domestic  in  their  bitterness,  would 
hardly  in  the  present  juncture  tend  to  discreet 
legislation.  Were  the  Unionists  and  Secession- 
ists but  as  Guelphs  and  Ghibellines?  If  not, 
then  far  be  it  from  a  great  nation  now  to  act  in 
the  spirit  that  animated  a  triumphant  town- 
faction  in  the  Middle  Ages.  But  crowding 
thoughts  must  at  last  be  checked ;  and,  in  times 
like  the  present,  one  who  desires  to  be  impar- 
tially just  in  the  expression  of  his  views,  moves 
as  among  sword-points  presented  on  every 
side. 

Let  us  pray  that  the  terrible  historic  tragedy 
of  our  time  may  not  have  been  enacted  without 
instructing  our  whole  beloved  country  through 
terror  and  pity ;  and  may  fulfillment  verify  in 
the  end  those  expectations  which  kindle  the 
bards  of  Progress  and  Humanity. 


[125] 


POEMS   FROM 
BATTLE   PIECES 


THE   PORTENT 

1859 

Hanging  from  the  beam, 

Slowly  swaying  (such  the  law) , 

Gamit  the  shadow  on  your  green, 
Shenandoah I 

The  cut  is  on  the  crown 

(Lo,  John  Brown) , 

And  the  stabs  shall  heal  no  more. 

Hidden  in  the  cap 

Is  the  anguish  none  can  draw ; 
So  youi'  future  veils  its  face, 

Shenandoah! 
But  the  streaming  beard  is  shown 
(Weird  John  Brown) , 
The  meteor  of  the  war. 


[129] 


FROM  THE  CONFLICT 
OF  CONVICTIONS 

1860-1 

The  Ancient  of  Days  forever  is  young, 
Forever  the  scheme  of  Nature  thrives ; 

I  know  a  wind  in  purpose  strong — 
It  spins  against  the  way  it  drives. 

Wliat  if  the  gulfs  their  shmed  foundations 
bare? 

So  deep  must  the  stones  be  hurled 

Whereon  the  tjiroes  of  ages  rear 

The  final  empire  and  the  happier  world. 

Power  unanointed  may  come — 
Dominion  (unsought  by  the  free) 

And  the  Iron  Dome, 
Stronger  for  stress  and  strain. 
Fling  her  huge  shadow  athwart  the  main ; 
But  the  Founders'  dream  shall  flee. 
Age  after  age  has  been, 
(From  man's  changeless  heart  their  way  they 

win)  ; 
And  death  be  busy  with  all  who  strive — 
Death,  with  silent  negative. 


[130] 


Yea  and  May — 

Each  hath  his  say; 

But  God  He  keeps  the  middle  way. 

None  was  by 

When  He  spread  the  sky; 

Wisdom  is  vain,  and  prophecy. 


[131] 


THE  MARCH  INTO  VIRGINIA 

Ending  in  the  First  Manassas 
July,  1861 

Did  all  the  lets  and  bars  appear 

To  every  just  or  larger  end, 
Whence  should  come  the  trust  and  cheer? 

Youth  must  its  ignorant  impulse  lend — 
Age  finds  place  in  the  rear. 

All  wars  are  boyish,  and  are  fought  by  boys, 
The  champions  and  enthusiasts  of  the  state : 

Turbid  ardors  and  vain  joys 
Not  barrenly  abate — 

Stimulants  to  the  power  mature, 
Preparatives  of  fate. 

Who  here  f orecasteth  the  event  ? 
What  heart  but  spurns  at  precedent 
And  warnings  of  the  wise. 
Contemned  foreclosures  of  surprise  ? 
The  banners  play,  the  bugles  call, 
The  air  is  blue  and  prodigal. 

No  berrying  party,  pleasure-wooed. 
No  picnic  party  in  the  May, 
Ever  went  less  loth  than  they 

Into  that  leafy  neighborhood. 
In  Bacchic  glee  they  file  toward  Fate, 


[132] 


Moloch's  uninitiate ; 
Expectancy,  and  glad  surmise 
Of  battle's  unknown  mysteries. 
All  they  feel  is  this :  't  is  glory, 
A  rapture  sharp,  though  transitory. 
Yet  lasting  in  belaureled  story. 
So  they  gayly  go  to  fight. 
Chatting  left  and  laughing  right. 

But  some  who  this  blithe  mood  present, 
As  on  in  lightsome  files  they  fare. 

Shall  die  experienced  ere  three  days  are 
spent — 
Perish,  enlightened  by  the  vollied  glare ; 

Or  shame  survive,  and,  like  to  adamant. 
The  throe  of  Second  Manassas  share. 


[133] 


BALL'S  BLUFF 

A  Reverie 
October,  1861 

One  noonday,  at  my  window  in  the  town, 
I  saw  a  sight — saddest  that  eyes  can  see — 
Young  soldiers  marching  lustily 
Unto  the  wars, 

With  fifes,  and  flags  in  mottoed  pageantry ; 
While  all  the  porches,  walks,  and  doors 

Were  rich  with  ladies  cheering  royally. 

They  moved  like  Juny  morning  on  the  wave, 
Their  hearts  were  fresh  as  clover  in  its  prime 
( It  was  the  breezy  summer  time) , 
Life  throbbed  so  strong. 
How  should  they  dream  that  Death  in  a  rosy 
clime 
Would  come  to  thin  their  shining  throng? 
Youth  feels  immortal,  like  the  gods  sublime. 


[134] 


Weeks  passed ;  and  at  my  window,  leaving 
bed, 
By  night  I  mused,  of  easeful  sleep  bereft, 
On  those  brave  boys  (Ah  War!  thy  theft)  ; 
Some  marching  feet 
Found  pause  at  last  by  chff s  Potomac  cleft ; 

Wakeful  I  mused,  while  in  the  street 
Far  footfalls  died  away  till  none  were  left. 


[135] 


THE  STONE  FLEET 

An  Old  Sailor's  Lament 
December,  1861 

I  HAVE  a  feeling  for  those  ships, 

Each  worn  and  ancient  one, 
With  great  bluff  bows,  and  broad  in  the  beam : 
Ay,  it  was  unkindly  done. 

But  so  they  serve  the  Obsolete — 
Even  so.  Stone  Fleet ! 

You'll  say  I'm  doting;  do  you  think 

I  scudded  round  the  Horn  in  one — 
The  Tenedos,  a  glorious 

Good  old  craft  as  ever  run — 

Sunk  (how  all  unmeet!) 
With  the  Old  Stone  Fleet. 

An  India  sliip  of  fame  was  she. 

Spices  and  shawls  and  fans  she  bore ; 
A  whaler  when  the  wrinkles  came — 
Turned  off!  till,  spent  and  poor. 

Her  bones  were  sold  (escheat)  ! 
All!  Stone  Fleet. 


[136] 


Four  were  erst  patrician  keels 

(Names  attest  what  families  be) , 
The  Kensington,  and  Richmond  too, 
Leonidas,  and  Lee : 

But  now  they  have  their  seat 
With  the  Old  Stone  Fleet. 

To  scuttle  them — a  pirate  deed — 

Sack  them,  and  dismast; 
They  sunk  so  slow,  they  died  so  hard. 
But  gurgling  dropped  at  last. 

Their  ghosts  in  gales  repeat 
Woe's  us.  Stone  Fleet! 

And  all  for  naught.  The  waters  pass — 

Currents  will  have  their  way ; 
Nature  is  nobody's  ally;  'tis  well; 
The  harbor  is  bettered — will  stay. 
A  failure,  and  complete, 
Was  your  Old  Stone  Fleet. 


[137] 


THE  TEMERAIRE 

Supposed  to  have  been  suggested  to  an  Englishman  of 

the  old  order  by  the  fight  of  the 

Monitor  and  M errimac 

The  gloomy  hulls  in  armor  grim, 
Like  clouds  o'er  moors  have  met, 

And  prove  that  oak,  and  iron,  and  man 
Are  tough  in  fibre  yet. 

But  Splendors  wane.  The  sea-fight  yields 

No  front  of  old  display ; 
The  garniture,  emblazonment, 

And  heraldry  all  decay. 

Towering  afar  in  parting  light, 

The  fleets  hke  Albion's  forelands  shine- 
The  full-sailed  fleets,  the  shrouded  show 

Of  Ships-of-the-Line. 

The  fighting  Temeraire, 
Built  of  a  thousand  trees. 

Lunging  out  her  lightnings, 
And  beetling  o'er  the  seas — 

O  Ship,  how  brave  and  fair. 
That  fought  so  oft  and  well, 


[138] 


On  open  decks  you  manned  the  gun 

Armorial. 
What  cheerings  did  you  share, 

Impulsive  in  the  van, 
When  down  upon  leagued  France  and 
Spain 

We  English  ran — 
The  freshet  at  your  bowsprit 

Like  the  foam  upon  the  can. 
Bickering,  your  colors 

Licked  up  the  Spanish  air, 
You  flapped  with  flames  of  battle-flags- 

Your  challenge,  Temeraire! 
The  rear  ones  of  our  fleet 

They  yearned  to  share  your  place. 
Still  vying  with  the  Victory 
Throughout  that  earnest  race — 
The  Victory,  whose  Admiral, 

With  orders  nobly  won, 
Shone  in  the  globe  of  the  battle  glow — 

The  angel  in  that  sun. 
Parallel  in  story, 

Lo,  the  stately  pair, 
As  late  in  grapple  ranging, 

The  foe  between  them  there — 
When  four  great  hulls  lay  tiered, 


[139] 


And  the  fiery  tempest  cleared, 
And  your  prizes  twain  appeared, 
Temeraire! 

But  Trafalgar  is  over  now. 

The  quarter-deck  undone ; 
The  carved  and  castled  navies  fire 

Their  evening-gun. 
O,  Titan  Temeraire, 

Your  stern-lights  fade  away ; 
Your  bulwarks  to  the  years  must  yield. 

And  heart-of-oak  decay. 
A  pigmy  steam-tug  tows  you, 

Gigantic,  to  the  shore — 
Dismantled  of  your  guns  and  spars. 

And  sweeping  wings  of  war. 
The  rivets  clinch  the  iron  clads, 

Men  leam  a  deadlier  lore ; 
But  Fame  has  nailed  your  battle-flags — 

Your  ghost  it  sails  before : 
O,  the  navies  old  and  oaken, 

O,  the  Temeraire  no  more! 


[140] 


A  UTILITARIAN  VIEW  OF 
THE   MONITOR'S  FIGHT 

Plain  be  the  phrase,  yet  apt  the  verse, 

More  ponderous  than  nimble ; 
For  since  grimed  War  here  laid  aside 
His  Orient  pomp,  'twould  ill  befit 
Overmuch  to  ply 
The  rhyme's  barbaric  cymbal. 

Hail  to  victory  without  the  gaud 
Of  glory ;  zeal  that  needs  no  fans 
Of  banners ;  plain  mechanic  power 
Plied  cogently  in  War  now  placed — 
Where  War  belongs — 
Among  the  trades  and  artisans. 

Yet  this  was  battle,  and  intense — 
Beyond  the  strife  of  fleets  heroic ; 

Deadlier,  closer,  calm  'mid  storm ; 

No  passion ;  all  went  on  by  crank. 
Pivot,  and  screw, 
And  calculations  of  caloric. 


[141] 


Needless  to  dwell ;  the  story's  known. 

The  ringmg  of  those  plates  on  plates 
Still  ringeth  round  the  world — 
The  clangor  of  that  blacksmiths'  fray. 
The  anvil-din 

Resounds  this  message  from  the  Fates : 

War  shall  yet  be,  and  to  the  end ; 

But  war-paint  shows  the  streaks  of  weather; 
War  yet  shall  be,  but  warriors 
Are  now  but  operatives ;  War's  made 
Less  grand  than  Peace, 

And  a  singe  runs  through  lace  and  feather. 


[142] 


MALVERN  HILL 

July,  1862 

Ye  elms  that  wave  on  Malvern  Hill 

In  prime  of  morn  and  May, 
Recall  ye  how  MeClellan's  men 

Here  stood  at  bay? 
While  deep  within  yon  forest  dim 

Our  rigid  comrades  lay — 
Some  with  the  cartridge  in  their  mouth, 
Others  with  fixed  arms  lifted  South — 

Invoking  so 
The  cypress  glades  ?  Ah  wilds  of  woe ! 

The  spires  of  Richmond,  late  beheld 
Through  rifts  in  muskct-haze. 

Were  closed  from  view  in  clouds  of  dust 
On  leaf -walled  ways, 

Where  streamed  our  wagons  in  caravan ; 
And  the  Seven  Nights  and  Days 

Of  march  and  fast,  retreat  and  fight. 

Pinched  our  grimed  faces  to  ghastly  plight- 
Does  the  elm  wood 

Recall  the  haggard  beards  of  blood? 


[143] 


The  battle-smoked  flag,  with  stars  eclipsed, 

We  followed  (it  never  fell ! )  — 
In  silence  husbanded  our  strength — 

Received  their  yell ; 
Till  on  this  slope  we  patient  turned 

With  cannon  ordered  well ; 
Reverse  we  proved  was  not  defeat ; 
But  ah,  the  sod  what  thousands  meet ! — 

Does  JNIalvern  Wood 
Bethink  itself,  and  muse  and  brood? 
We  elms  of  Malvern  Hill 
Remember  everything ; 
But  sap  the  twig  will  fill: 
Wag  the  world  how  it  will. 
Leaves  must  be  green  in  Spring. 


[144] 


STONEWALL  JACKSON 

Mortally  wounded  at  Chancellorsville 
May,  1863 

The  Man  who  fiercest  charged  in  fight, 
Whose  sword  and  prayer  were  long — 

Stonewall ! 
Even  him  who  stoutly  stood  for  Wrong, 

How  can  we  praise  ?  Yet  coming  days 
Shall  not  forget  him  with  this  song. 

Dead  is  the  Man  whose  Cause  is  dead, 
Vainly  he  died  and  set  his  seal — 

Stonewall ! 
Earnest  in  error,  as  we  feel ; 

True  to  the  thing  he  deemed  was  due, 
True  as  Jolin  Brown  or  steel. 

Relentlessly  he  routed  us ; 

But  we  relent,  for  he  is  low — 
Stonewall ! 

Justly  his  fame  we  outlaw ;  so 
We  drop  a  tear  on  the  bold  Virginian's  bier. 

Because  no  wreath  we  owe. 


[145] 


THE  HOUSE-TOP 

July,  1863 
A  Might  Piece 

No  sleep.  The  sultriness  pervades  the  air 
And  binds  the  brain — a  dense  oppression,  such 
As  tawny  tigers  feel  in  matted  shades, 
Vexing  their  blood  and  making  apt  for  ravage. 
Beneath  the  stars  the  roofy  desert  spreads 
Vacant  as  Libya.  All  is  hushed  near  by. 
Yet  fitfully  from  far  breaks  a  mixed  surf 
Of  muffled  sound,  the  Atheist  roar  of  riot. 
Yonder,  where  parching  Sirius  set  in  drought, 
Balefully  glares  red  Arson — there — and 

there. 
The  Town  is  taken  by  its  rats — ship-rats 
And  rats  of  the  wharves.  All  civil  charms 
And  priestly  spells  which  late  held  hearts  in 

awe — 
Fear-bound,  subjected  to  a  better  sway 
Than  sway  of  self ;  these  like  a  dream  dissolve. 
And  man  rebounds  whole  aeons  back  in 

nature. 
Hail  to  the  low  dull  rumble,  dull  and  dead, 
And  ponderous  drag  that  shakes  the  wall. 
Wise  Draco  comes,  deep  in  the  midnight  roll 
Of  black  artillery ;  he  comes,  tliough  late ; 

[146] 


In  code  corroborating  Calvin's  creed 
And  cynic  tyrannies  of  honest  kings ; 
He  comes,  nor  parlies ;  and  the  Town, 

redeemed, 
Gives  thanks  devout ;  nor,  being  thankful, 

heeds 
The  grimy  slur  on  the  Republic's  faith 

implied. 
Which  holds  that  Man  is  naturally  good. 
And — more — is  Nature's  Roman,  never  to  be 

scourged. 


[147] 


CHATTANOOGA 

November,  1863 

A  KINDLING  impulse  seized  the  host 

Inspired  by  heaven's  elastic  air; 
Their  hearts  outran  their  General's  plan, 

Though  Grant  commanded  there — 

Grant,  who  without  reserve  can  dare ; 
And,  "Well,  go  on  and  do  your  will," 

■  He  said,  and  measured  the  mountain  then : 
So  master-riders  fling  the  rein — 

But  you  must  know  your  men. 

On  yester-morn  in  grayish  mist. 

Armies  like  ghosts  on  hills  had  fought, 

And  rolled  from  the  cloud  their  thunders  loud 
The  Cumberlands  far  had  caught : 
To-day  the  sunlit  steeps  are  sought. 

Grant  stood  on  cliffs  whence  all  was  plain, 
And  smoked  as  one  who  feels  no  cares ; 

But  mastered  nervousness  intense 
Alone  such  calmness  wears. 

The  summit-cannon  plunge  their  flame 

Sheer  down  the  primal  wall. 
But  up  and  up  each  linking  troop 


[148] 


In  stretching  festoons  crawl — 

Nor  fire  a  shot.  Such  men  appall 
The  foe,  though  brave.  He,  from  the  brink. 

Looks  far  along  the  breadth  of  slope, 
And  sees  two  miles  of  dark  dots  creep, 

And  knows  they  mean  the  cope. 

He  sees  them  creep.  Yet  here  and  there 
Half  hid  'mid  leafless  groves  they  go ; 

As  men  who  ply  through  traceries  high 
Of  turreted  marbles  show — 
So  dwindle  these  to  eyes  below. 

But  fronting  shot  and  flanking  shell 
Sliver  and  rive  the  inwoven  ways ; 

High  tops  of  oaks  and  high  hearts  fall, 
But  never  the  climbing  stays. 

From  right  to  left,  from  left  to  right 

They  roll  the  rallying  cheer — 
Vie  with  each  other,  brother  with  brother, 

Who  shall  the  first  appear — 

What  color-bearer  with  colors  clear 
In  sharp  relief,  like  sky-drawn  Grant, 

Whose  cigar  must  now  be  near  the  stump- 
While  in  solicitude  his  back 

Heaps  slowly  to  a  hump. 


[149] 


Near  and  more  near ;  till  now  the  flags 

Run  like  a  catching  flame ; 
And  one  flares  highest,  to  peril  nighest — 

He  means  to  make  a  name : 

Salvos!  they  give  him  his  fame. 
The  staff  is  caught,  and  next  the  rush, 

And  then  the  leap  where  death  has  led ; 
Flag  answered  flag  along  the  crest, 

And  swarms  of  rebels  fled. 

But  some  who  gained  the  envied  Alp, 

And — eager,  ardent,  earnest  there — 
Dropped  into  Death's  wide-open  arms. 
Quelled  on  the  wing  like  eagles  struck  in 
air — 

Forever  they  slumber  young  and  fair, 
The  smile  upon  them  as  they  died ; 

Their  end  attained,  that  end  a  height : 
Life  was  to  these  a  dream  fulfilled. 

And  death  a  starry  night. 


[150] 


ON  THE  PHOTOGRAPH  OF  A 
CORPS  COMMANDER 

Ay^  man  is  manly.  Here  you  see 
The  warrior-carriage  of  the  head, 

And  brave  dilation  of  the  frame ; 
And  lighting  all,  the  soul  that  led 

In  Spottsylvania's  charge  to  victory, 
Which  justifies  his  fame. 

A  cheering  picture.  It  is  good 
To  look  upon  a  Chief  like  this. 
In  whom  the  spirit  moulds  the  form. 
Here  favoring  Nature,  oft  remiss, 

With  eagle  mien  expressive  has  endued 
A  man  to  kindle  strains  that  warm. 

Trace  back  his  lineage,  and  his  sires. 
Yeoman  or  noble,  you  shall  find 

Enrolled  with  men  of  Agincourt, 

Heroes  who  shared  great  Harry's  mind. 

Down  to  us  come  the  knightly  Norman  fires. 
And  front  the  Templars  bore. 


[151] 


Nothing  can  lift  the  heart  of  man 
Like  manhood  in  a  fellow-man. 

The  thought  of  heaven's  great  King  afar 

But  humbles  us — too  weak  to  scan; 

But  manly  gi'eatness  men  can  span, 
And  feel  the  bonds  that  draw. 


[152] 


THE  SWAMP  ANGEL 

There  is  a  coal-black  Angel 

With  a  thick  Afric  Up, 
And  he  dwells  (like  the  hunted  and  harried) 

In  a  swamp  where  the  green  frogs  dip. 
But  his  face  is  against  a  City 

Which  is  over  a  bay  of  the  sea, 
And  he  breathes  with  a  breath  that  is 
blastment, 

And  dooms  by  a  far  decree. 

By  night  there  is  fear  in  the  City, 

Through  the  darkness  a  star  soareth  on ; 
There's  a  scream  that  screams  up  to  the  zenith, 

Then  the  poise  of  a  meteor  lone — 
Lighting  far  the  pale  fright  of  the  faces, 

And  downward  the  coming  is  seen ; 
Then  the  rush,  and  the  burst,  and  the  havoc, 

And  wails  and  shrieks  between. 

It  comes  like  the  thief  in  the  gloaming; 

It  comes,  and  none  may  foretell 
The  place  of  the  coming — the  glaring ; 

They  live  in  a  sleepless  spell 
That  wizens,  and  withers,  and  whitens ; 

It  ages  the  young,  and  the  bloom 

[153] 


Of  the  maiden  is  ashes  of  roses — 

The  Swamp  Angel  broods  in  his  gloom. 

Swift  is  his  messengers'  going, 

But  slowly  he  saps  their  halls, 
As  if  by  delay  deluding. 

They  move  from  their  crumbling  walls 
Farther  and  farther  away ; 

But  the  Angel  sends  after  and  after, 
By  night  with  the  flame  of  his  ray — 

By  night  with  the  voice  of  his  screaming — 
Sends  after  them,  stone  by  stone, 

And  farther  walls  fall,  farther  portals, 
And  weed  follows  weed  through  the  Town. 

Is  this  the  proud  City  ?  the  scorner 

Which  never  would  yield  the  ground  ? 
Which  mocked  at  the  coal-black  Angel  ? 

The  cup  of  despair  goes  round. 
Vainly  he  calls  upon  Michael 

(The  white  man's  seraph  was  he,) 
For  Michael  has  fled  from  his  tower 

To  the  Angel  over  the  sea. 
Who  weeps  for  the  woeful  City 

Let  him  weep  for  our  guilty  kind ; 
Who  joys  at  her  wild  despairing — 

Christ,  the  Forgiver,  convert  his  mind. 

[154] 


SHERIDAN  AT  CEDAR  CREEK 

October,  1864 

Shoe  the  steed  with  silver 

That  bore  him  to  the  fray, 
When  he  heard  the  guns  at  dawning — 

Miles  away ; 
When  he  heard  them  calling,  calling — 

Mount !  nor  stay : 

Quick,  or  all  is  lost ; 

They've  surprised  and  stormed  the  post, 

They  push  your  routed  host — 
Gallop !  retrieve  the  day. 

House  the  horse  in  ermine — 

For  the  foam-flake  blew 
White  through  the  red  October ; 

He  thundered  into  view ; 
They  cheered  him  in  the  looming. 
Horseman  and  horse  they  knew. 
The  turn  of  the  tide  began. 
The  rally  of  bugles  ran. 
He  swung  his  hat  in  the  van ; 
The  electric  hoof-spark  flew. 


[155] 


Wreathe  the  steed  and  lead  him — 

For  the  charge  he  led 
Touched  and  turned  the  cypress 

Into  amaranths  for  the  head 
Of  Phihp,  king  of  riders, 

Who  raised  them  from  the  dead. 
The  camp  (at  dawning  lost), 
By  eve,  recovered — forced, 
Rang  with  laughter  of  the  host 
At  belated  Early  fled. 

Shroud  the  horse  in  sable — 

For  the  mounds  they  heap ! 
There  is  firing  in  the  Valley, 

And  yet  no  strife  they  keep ; 
It  is  the  parting  volley, 
It  is  the  pathos  deep. 

There  is  glory  for  the  brave 
Who  lead,  and  nobly  save, 
But  no  knowledge  in  the  grave 
Where  the  nameless  followers  sleep. 


[156] 


IN  THE  PRISON  PEN 

1864 

Listless  he  eyes  the  palisades 

And  sentries  in  the  glare ; 
'Tis  barren  as  a  pelican-beach — 

But  his  world  is  ended  there. 

Nothing  to  do ;  and  vacant  hands 

Bring  on  the  idiot-pain ; 
He  tries  to  think — to  recollect, 

But  the  blur  is  on  his  brain. 

Around  him  swarm  the  plaining  ghosts 
Like  those  on  Virgil's  shore — 

A  wilderness  of  faces  dim, 

And  pale  ones  gashed  and  hoar. 

A  smiting  sun.  No  shed,  no  tree ; 

He  totters  to  his  lair — 
A  den  that  sick  hands  dug  in  earth 

Ere  famine  wasted  there, 

Or,  dropping  in  his  place,  he  swoons. 
Walled  in  by  throngs  that  press, 

Till  forth  from  the  throngs  they  bear 
him  dead — 
Dead  in  his  meagreness. 

[157] 


THE  COLLEGE  COLONEL 

He  rides  at  their  head ; 

A  crutch  by  his  saddle  just  slants  in  view, 
One  slung  arm  is  in  splints,  you  see, 

Yet  he  guides  his  strong  steed — how 
coldly  too. 

He  brings  his  regiment  home — 

Not  as  they  filed  two  years  before, 
But  a  remnant  half-tattered,  and  battered, 

and  worn. 
Like  castaway  sailors,  who — stunned 
^y  the  surf's  loud  roar, 
Their  mates  dragged  back  and  seen  no 
more — 
Again  and  again  breast  the  surge. 
And  at  last  crawl,  spent,  to  shore. 

A  still  rigidity  and  pale — 

An  Indian  aloofness  lones  his  brow ; 
He  has  lived  a  thousand  years 
Compressed  in  battle's  pains  and  prayers, 

Marches  and  watches  slow. 


[158] 


There  are  welcoming  shouts,  and  flags ; 

Old  men  off  hat  to  the  Boy, 
Wreaths  from  gay  balconies  fall  at  his  feet, 

But  to  him — there  comes  alloy. 

It  is  not  that  a  leg  is  lost. 

It  is  not  that  an  arm  is  maimed, 

It  is  not  that  the  fever  has  racked — 
Self  he  has  long  disclaimed. 

But  all  through  the  Seven  Days'  Fight, 
And  deep  in  the  Wilderness  grim, 

And  in  the  field-hospital  tent. 
And  Petersburg  crater,  and  dim 

Lean  brooding  in  Libby,  there  came — 
Ah  heaven ! — what  truth  to  him. 


[159] 


THE  MARTYR 

Indicative  of  the  passion  of  the  people  on  the 
I5th  of  April,  1865 

Good  Friday  was  the  day 

Of  the  prodigy  and  crime, 
When  they  killed  him  in  his  pity, 

When  they  killed  him  in  his  prime 
Of  clemency  and  calm — 

When  with  yearning  he  was  filled 
To  redeem  the  evil- willed, 
And,  though  conqueror,  be  kind ; 

But  they  killed  him  in  his  kindness. 

In  their  madness  and  their  blindness, 
And  they  killed  him  from  behind. 

There  is  sobbing  of  the  strong, 
And  a  pall  upon  the  land; 

But  the  People  in  their  weeping 
Bare  the  iron  hand ; 

Beware  the  People  weeping 
WTien  they  bare  the  iron  hand. 

He  lieth  in  his  blood — 

The  father  in  his  face ; 
They  have  killed  him,  the  Forgiver — 

The  Avenger  takes  his  place, 

[160] 


The  Avenger  wisely  stern, 

Who  in  righteousness  shall  do 
What  the  heavens  call  him  to, 
And  the  parricides  remand ; 

For  they  killed  him  in  his  kindness, 
In  their  madness  and  their  blindness. 
And  his  blood  is  on  their  hand. 

There  is  sobbing  of  the  strong. 
And  a  pall  upon  the  land ; 

But  the  People  in  their  weeping 
Bare  the  iron  hand : 

Beware  the  People  weeping 
When  they  bare  the  iron  hand. 


[161] 


REBEL   COLOR-BEARERS 
AT  SHILOH 

A  plea  against  the  vindictive  cry  raised  by  civilians 
shortly  after  the  surrender  at  Appomattox 

The  color-bearers  facing  death 

White  in  the  whirling  sulphurous  wreath, 

Stand  boldly  out  before  the  line ; 
Right  and  left  their  glances  go, 
Proud  of  each  other,  glorying  in  their  show ; 
Their  battle-flags  about  them  blow. 

And  fold  them  as  in  flame  divine : 
Such  living  robes  are  only  seen 
Round  martyrs  burning  on  the  green — 
And  martyrs  for  the  Wrong  have  been. 

Perish  their  Cause !  but  mark  the  men — 
Mark  the  planted  statues,  then 
Draw  trigger  on  them  if  you  can. 

The  leader  of  a  patriot-band 

Even  so  could  view  rebels  who  so  could  stand ; 

And  this  when  peril  pressed  him  sore. 
Left  aidless  in  the  shivered  front  of  war — 

Skulkers  behind,  defiant  foes  before, 
And  fighting  with  a  broken  brand. 
The  challenge  in  that  courage  rare — 


[162] 


Courage  defenseless,  proudly  bare — 
Never  could  tempt  him ;  he  could  dare 
Strike  up  the  leveled  rifle  there. 

Sunday  at  Shiloh,  and  the  day 

When  Stonewall  charged — McClellan's 

crimson  May, 
And  Chickamauga's  wave  of  death, 
And  of  the  Wilderness  the  cypress  wreath- 
All  these  have  passed  away. 
The  life  in  the  veins  of  Treason  lags, 
Her  daring  color-bearers  drop  their  flags, 
And  yield.  Now  shall  we  fire  ? 

Can  poor  spite  be? 
Shall  nobleness  in  victory  less  aspire 
Than  in  reverse?  Spare  Spleen  her  ire, 
And  think  how  Grant  met  Lee. 


[163] 


AURORA  BOREALIS 

Commemorative  of  the  Dissolution  of  Armies 

at  the  Peace 

May,  1865 

What  power  disbands  the  Northern  Lights 

After  their  steely  play  ? 
The  lonely  watcher  feels  an  awe 
Of  Nature's  sway, 
As  when  appearing, 
He  marked  their  flashed  uprearing 
In  the  cold  gloom — 
Retreatings  and  advancings, 
(Like  dallyings  of  doom) , 
Transitions  and  enliancings. 
And  bloody  ray. 

The  phantom-host  has  faded  quite, 

Splendor  and  Terror  gone — 
Portent  or  promise — and  gives  way 
To  pale,  meek  Dawn ; 
The  coming,  going, 
Alike  in  wonder  showing — 
Alike  the  God, 
Decreeing  and  commanding 
The  million  blades  that  glowed. 
The  muster  and  disbanding — 
Midnight  and  Morn. 

[164] 


THE  RELEASED  REBEL 
PRISONER 

June,  1865 

Armies  he's  seen — the  herds  of  war, 

But  never  such  swarms  of  men 
As  now  in  the  Nineveh  of  the  North — 

How  mad  the  Rebelhon  then ! 

And  yet  but  dimly  he  divines 

The  depth  of  that  deceit, 
And  superstitution  of  vast  pride 

Humbled  to  such  defeat. 

Seductive  shone  the  Chiefs  in  arms — 
His  steel  the  nearest  magnet  drew ; 

Wreathed  with  its  kind,  the  Gulf- weed  drives- 
'Tis  Nature's  wrong  they  rue. 

His  face  is  hidden  in  his  beard, 
But  his  heart  peers  out  at  eye — 

And  such  a  heart !  like  a  mountain-pool 
Where  no  man  passes  by. 

He  thinks  of  Hill — a  brave  soul  gone ; 

And  Ashby  dead  in  pale  disdain ; 
And  Stuart  with  the  Rupert-plume, 

Whose  blue  eye  never  shall  laugh  again. 

[165] 


He  hears  the  drum ;  he  sees  our  boys 
From  his  wasted  fields  return ; 
Ladies  feast  them  on  strawberries, 
And  even  to  kiss  them  yearn. 

He  marks  them  bronzed,  in  soldier-trim. 

The  rifle  proudly  borne ; 
Thev  bear  it  for  an  heirloom  home. 

And  he — disarmed — jail- worn. 

Home,  home — his  heart  is  full  of  it ; 

But  home  he  never  shall  see. 
Even  should  he  stand  upon  the  spot : 

'Tis  gone! — where  his  brothers  be. 

The  cypress-moss  from  tree  to  tree 
Hangs  in  his  Southern  land ; 

As  weird,  from  thought  to  thought  of  his 
Run  memories  hand  in  hand. 

And  so  he  lingers — Hngers  on 

In  the  City  of  the  Foe— 
His  cousins  and  his  countrymen 

Who  see  him  listless  go. 


[166] 


"FORMERLY  A  SLAVE" 

An  idealized  Portrait,  by  E.  Vedder,  in  the  Spring 
Exhibition  of  the  National  Academy,  1865 

The  sufferance  of  her  race  is  shown, 

And  retrospect  of  hfe, 
Which  now  too  late  dehverance  dawns  upon ; 

Yet  is  she  not  at  strife. 

Her  children's  children  they  shall  know 

The  good  withheld  from  her ; 
And  so  her  reverie  takes  prophetic  cheer — 

In  spirit  she  sees  the  stir 

Far  down  the  depth  of  thousand  years. 

And  marks  the  revel  shine ; 
Her  dusky  face  is  lit  with  sober  light. 

Sibylline,  yet  benign. 


[167] 


ON  THE  SLAIN  COLLEGIANS 

Youth  is  the  time  when  hearts  are  large, 

And  stirring  wars 
Appeal  to  the  spirit  which  appeals  in  turn 

To  the  blade  it  draws. 
If  woman  incite,  and  duty  show 

(Though  made  the  mask  of  Cain) , 
Or  whether  it  be  Truth's  sacred  cause, 

Who  can  aloof  remain 
That  shares  youth's  ardor,  uncooled  by  the 
snow 

Of  wisdom  or  sordid  gain? 

The  liberal  arts  and  nurture  sweet 
Which  give  his  gentleness  to  man — 

Train  him  to  honor,  lend  him  grace 
Through  bright  examples  meet — 
That  culture  which  makes  never  wan 
With  underminings  deep,  but  holds 
The  surface  still,  its  fitting  place. 
And  so  gives  sunniness  to  the  face 
And  bravery  to  the  heart ;  what  troops 

Of  generous  boys  in  happiness  thus  bred — 
Saturnians  through  life's  Tempe  led, 
Went  from  the  North  and  came  from  the 
South, 


[168] 


With  golden  mottoes  in  the  mouth, 
To  he  down  midway  on  a  bloody  bed. 

Woe  for  the  homes  of  the  North, 
And  woe  for  the  seats  of  the  South : 
All  who  felt  life's  spring  in  prime, 
And  were  swept  by  the  wind  of  their  place  and 
time — 

All  lavish  hearts,  on  whichever  side, 
Of  birth  urbane  or  courage  high. 
Armed  them  for  the  stirring  wars — 

Armed  them — some  to  die. 
Apollo-like  in  pride. 
Each  would  slay  his  Python — caught 
The  maxims  in  his  temple  taught — 

Aflame  with  sympathies  whose  blaze 
Perforce  enwrapped  him— social  laws. 

Friendship  and  kin,  and  by-gone  days — 
Vows,  kisses — every  heart  unmoors. 
And  launches  into  the  seas  of  wars. 
What  could  they  else — North  or  South? 
Each  went  forth  with  blessings  given 
By  priests  and  mothers  in  the  name  of  Heaven ; 

And  honor  in  both  was  chief. 
Warred  one  for  Right,  and  one  for  Wrong? 
So  be  it ;  but  they  both  were  young — 
Each  grape  to  his  cluster  clung, 

[169] 


All  their  elegies  are  sung. 
The  anguish  of  maternal  hearts 

Must  search  for  balm  divine ; 
But  well  the  striplings  bore  their  fated  parts 

(The  heavens  all  parts  assign)  — 
Never  felt  life's  care  or  cloy. 
Each  bloomed  and  died  an  unabated  Boy; 
Nor  dreamed  what  death  was — thought  it  mere 
Sliding  into  some  vernal  sphere. 
They  knew  the  joy,  but  leaped  the  grief, 
Like  plants  that  flower  ere  comes  the  leaf — 
Which  storms  lav  low  in  kindlv  doom, 
And  kill  them  in  their  flush  of  bloom. 


[170] 


AMERICA 

I 

Where  the  wings  of  a  sunny  Dome  expand 
I  saw  a  Banner  in  gladsome  air — 
Starry,  like  Berenice's  Hair — 
Afloat  in  broadened  bravery  there ; 
With  undulating  long-drawn  flow, 
As  tolled  Brazilian  billows  go 
Voluminously  o'er  the  Line. 
The  Land  reposed  in  peace  below ; 

The  children  in  their  glee 
Were  folded  to  the  exulting  heart 

Of  young  Maternity. 

II 
Later,  and  it  streamed  in  fight 

When  tempest  mingled  with  the  fray, 
And  over  the  spear-point  of  the  shaft 

I  saw  the  ambiguous  lightning  play. 
Valor  with  Valor  strove,  and  died : 
Fierce  was  Despair,  and  cruel  was  Pride ; 
And  the  lorn  Mother  speechless  stood, 
Pale  at  the  fury  of  her  brood. 


[171] 


Ill 

Yet  later,  and  the  silk  did  wind 

Her  fair  cold  form ; 
Little  availed  the  shining  shroud, 

Though  ruddy  in  hue,  to  cheer  or  warm. 
A  watcher  looked  upon  her  low,  and  said — 
She  sleeps,  but  sleeps,  she  is  not  dead. 

But  in  that  sleeps  contortion  showed 
The  terror  of  the  vision  there — 

A  silent  vision  unavowed, 
Revealing  earth's  foundation  bare. 

And  Gorgon  in  her  hidden  place. 
It  was  a  thing  of  fear  to  see 

So  foul  a  dream  upon  so  fair  a  face, 
And  the  dreamer  lying  in  that  starry  shroud. 

IV 

But  from  the  trance  she  sudden  broke — 

The  trance,  or  death  into  promoted  life ; 
At  her  feet  a  shivered  yoke, 
And  in  her  aspect  turned  to  heaven 
'No  trace  of  passion  or  of  strife — 
A  clear  calm  look.  It  spake  of  pain. 
But  such  as  purifies  from  stain — 
Sharp  pangs  that  never  come  again — 
And  triumph  repressed  by  knowledge  meet, 


[172] 


Power  dedicate,  and  hope  grown  wise, 
And  youth  matured  for  age's  seat — 

Law  on  her  brow  and  empire  in  her  eyes. 
So  she,  with  graver  air  and  hfted  flag; 

While  the  shadow,  chased  by  Hght, 

Fled  along  the  far-drawn  height, 
And  left  her  on  the  crag. 


[173] 


INSCRIPTION 

For  Graves  at  Pea  Ridge,  Arkansas 

Let  none  misgive  we  died  amiss 

When  here  we  strove  in  furious  fight : 
Furious  it  was ;  nathless  was  this 

Better  than  tranquil  phght, 
And  tame  surrender  of  the  Cause 
Hallowed  by  hearts  and  by  the  laws. 

We  here  who  warred  for  Man  and  Right, 
The  choice  of  warring  never  laid  with  us. 

There  we  were  ruled  by  the  traitor's  choice. 

Nor  long  we  stood  to  trim  and  poise, 
But  marched  and  fell — victorious ! 


[174] 


THE  FORTITUDE  OF 
THE  NORTH 

Under  the  Disaster  of  the  Second  Manassas 

They  take  no  shame  for  dark  defeat 

While  prizing  yet  each  victory  won, 
Who  fight  for  the  Right  through  all  retreat, 

Nor  pause  until  their  work  is  done. 
The  Cape-of-Storms  is  proof  to  every  throe; 

Vainly  against  that  foreland  beat 
Wild  winds  aloft  and  wilder  waves  below : 
The  black  cliffs  gleam  through  rents  in  sleet 
When  the  livid  Antarctic  storm-clouds  glow. 


[175] 


THE  MOUND  BY  THE  LAKE 

The  grass  shall  never  forget  this  grave. 
When  homeward  footing  it  in  the  sun 

After  the  weary  ride  by  rail, 
The  stripling  soldiers  passed  her  door, 

Wounded  perchance,  or  wan  and  pale, 
She  left  her  household  work  undone — 
Duly  the  wayside  table  spread. 

With  evergreens  shaded,  to  regale 
Each  travel-spent  and  grateful  one. 
So  warm  her  heart — childless — unwed. 
Who  like  a  mother  comforted. 


[176] 


ON  THE  SLAIN  AT 
CHICKAMAUGA 

Happy  are  they  and  charmed  in  life 

Who  through  long  wars  arrive  unscarred 
At  peace.    To  such  the  wreath  be  given, 
If  they  unfalteringly  have  striven — 

In  honor,  as  in  limb,  unmarred. 
Let  cheerful  praise  be  rife. 

And  let  them  live  their  years  at  ease, 
Musing  on  brothers  who  victorious  died — 

Loved  mates  whose  memory  shall  ever  please. 

And  yet  mischance  is  honorable  too — 
Seeming  defeat  in  conflict  justified 

Whose  end  to  closing  eyes  is  hid  from  view. 

The  will,  that  never  can  relent — 

The  aim,  survivor  of  the  bafflement, 
Make  this  memorial  due. 


[177] 


AN  UNINSCRIBED 
MONUMENT 

On  one  of  the  Battle-fields  of  the  Wilderness 

Silence  and  solitude  may  hint 

(Whose  home  is  in  yon  piney  wood) 
What  I,  though  tableted,  could  never  tell — 
The  din  which  here  befell, 

And  striving  of  the  multitude. 
The  iron  cones  and  spheres  of  death 

Set  round  me  in  their  rust, 
These,  too,  if  just. 
Shall  speak  with  more  than  animated  breath. 

Thou  who  beholdest,  if  thy  thought, 
Not  narrowed  down  to  personal  cheer, 
Take  in  the  import  of  the  quiet  here — 

The  after-quiet — the  calm  full  fraught ; 
Thou  too  wilt  silent  stand — 
Silent  as  I,  and  lonesome  as  the  land. 


[178] 


ON    THE    GRAVE    OF    A 

YOUNG    CAVALRY    OFFICER 

KILLED     IN    THE 

VALLEY    OF    VIRGINIA 

Beauty  and  youth,  with  manners  sweet,  and 
friends — 

Gold,  yet  a  mind  not  unenriched  had  he 
Whom  here  low  violets  veil  from  eyes. 

But  all  these  gifts  transcended  be : 
His  happier  fortune  in  this  mound  you  see. 


[179] 


A  REQUIEM 

For  Soldiers  lost  in  Ocean  Transports 

When^  after  storms  that  woodlands  rue, 

To  valleys  comes  atoning  dawn, 
The  robins  blithe  their  orchard-sports  renew 

And  meadow-larks,  no  more  withdrawn 
Caroling  fly  in  the  languid  blue ; 
The  while,  from  many  a  hid  recess, 
Alert  to  partake  the  blessedness, 
The  pouring  mites  their  airy  dance  pursue. 

So,  after  ocean's  ghastly  gales. 
When  laughing  light  of  hoyden  morning 
breaks, 

Every  finny  hider  wakes — 

From  vaults  profound  swims  up  with 
glittering  scales ; 

Through  the  delightsome  sea  he  sails. 
With  shoals  of  shining  tiny  things 
Frolic  on  every  wave  that  flings 

Against  the  prow  its  showery  spray ; 
All  creatures  joying  in  the  morn, 
Save  them  forever  from  joyance  torn. 

Whose  bark  was  lost  where  now  the 
dolphins  play ; 
Save  them  that  by  the  fabled  shore, 

Down  the  pale  stream  are  washed  away, 

[180] 


Far  to  the  reef  of  bones  are  borne ; 

And  never  revisits  them  the  light, 
Nor  sight  of  long-sought  land  and  pilot  more ; 

Nor  heed  they  now  the  lone  bird's  flight 
Round  the  lone  spar  where  mid-sea  surges 
pour. 


[181] 


COMMEMORATIVE  OF  A 
NAVAL  VICTORY 

Sailors  there  are  of  the  gentlest  breed, 

Yet  strong,  like  every  goodly  thing ; 
The  discipline  of  arms  refines. 

And  the  wave  gives  tempering. 

The  damasked  blade  its  beam  can  fling ; 
It  lends  the  last  grave  grace : 
The  hawk,  the  hound,  and  sworded  nobleman 

In  Titian's  picture  for  a  king, 
Are  of  hunter  or  warrior  race. 

In  social  halls  a  favored  guest 
In  years  that  follow  victory  won, 

How  sweet  to  feel  your  festal  fame 
In  woman's  glance  instinctive  thrown : 
Repose  is  yours — your  deed  is  known, 

It  musks  the  amber  wine ; 

It  lives,  and  sheds  a  light  from  storied  days 
Rich  as  October  sunsets  brown. 

Which  make  the  barren  place  to  shine. 


[182] 


But  seldom  the  laurel  wreath  is  seen 
Unmixed  with  pensive  pansies  dark ; 

There's  a  light  and  a  shadow  on  every  man 
Who  at  last  attains  his  lifted  mark — 
Nursing  through  night  the  ethereal  spark. 

Elate  he  never  can  be ; 

He  feels  that  spirit  which  glad  had  hailed  his 
worth, 
Sleep  in  oblivion. — The  shark 

Glides  white  through  the  phosphorus  sea. 


[183] 


A  MEDITATION 

How  often  in  the  years  that  close, 

AVhen  truce  had  stilled  the  sieging  gun, 

The  soldiers,  mounting  on  their  works, 
With  mutual  curious  glance  have  run 

From  face  to  face  along  the  fronting  show, 

And  kinsman  spied,  or  friend — even  in  a  foe. 

What  thoughts  conflicting  then  were  shared. 
While  sacred  tenderness  perforce 

Welled  from  the  heart  and  wet  the  eye ; 
And  something  of  a  strange  remorse 

Rebelled  against  the  sanctioned  sin  of  blood. 

And  Christian  wars  of  natural  brotherhood. 

Then  stirred  the  god  within  the  breast — 
The  witness  that  is  man's  at  birth; 

A  deep  misgiving  undermined 

Each  plea  and  subterfuge  of  earth; 

They  felt  in  that  rapt  pause,  with  warning  rife, 

Horror  and  anguish  for  the  civil  strife. 

Of  North  or  South  they  recked  not  then. 
Warm  passion  cursed  the  cause  of  war : 

Can  Africa  pay  back  this  blood 
Spilt  on  Potomac's  shore? 


[184] 


Yet  doubts,  as  pangs,  were  vain  the  strife 

to  stay. 
And  hands  that  fain  had  clasped  again 

could  slay. 

How  frequent  in  the  camp  was  seen 

The  herald  from  the  hostile  one, 
A  guest  and  frank  companion  there 

When  the  proud  formal  talk  was  done ; 
The  pipe  of  peace  was  smoked  even  'mid  the 

war, 
And  fields  in  Mexico  again  fought  o'er. 

In  Western  battle  long  they  lay 
So  near  opposed  in  trench  or  pit, 

That  foeman  unto  f oeman  called 
As  men  who  screened  in  tavern  sit : 

"You  bravely  fight"  each  to  the  other  said — 

"Toss  us  a  biscuit!"  o'er  the  wall  it  sped. 

And  pale  on  those  same  slopes,  a  boy — 
A  stormer,  bled  in  noon-day  glare ; 

No  aid  the  Blue-coats  then  could  bring, 
He  cried  to  them  who  nearest  were, 

And  out  there  came  'mid  howling  shot  and  shell 

A  daring  foe  who  him  befriended  well. 


[185] 


Mark  the  great  Captains  on  both  sides, 
The  soldiers  with  the  broad  renown — 

Thej'-  all  were  messmates  on  the  Hudson's 
marge. 
Beneath  one  roof  they  laid  them  down ; 

And,  free  from  hate  in  many  an  after  pass. 

Strove  as  in  school-boy  rivalry  of  the  class. 

A  darker  side  there  is ;  but  doubt 
In  Nature's  charity  hovers  there : 

If  men  for  new  agreement  yearn, 
Then  old  upbraiding  best  forbear: 

"The  South's  the  sinner!"  Well,  so  let  it  be; 

But  shall  the  North  sin  worse,  and  stand  the 
Pharisee  ? 

O,  now  that  brave  men  yield  the  sword, 

Mine  be  the  manful  soldier- view ; 
By  how  much  more  they  boldly  warred. 

By  so  much  more  is  mercy  due : 
When  Vicksburg  fell,  and  the  moody  files 

marched  out. 
Silent  the  victors  stood,  scorning  to  raise  a 
shout. 


[18G] 


POEMS   FROM 
MARDI 


WE  FISH 

We  fish,  we  fish,  we  merrily  swim. 
We  care  not  for  friend  nor  for  foe. 

Our  fins  are  stout. 

Our  tails  are  out. 
As  through  the  seas  we  go. 

Fish,  Fish,  we  are  fish  with  red  gills ; 

Naught  disturbs  us,  our  blood  is  at  zero : 
We  are  buoyant  because  of  our  bags, 

Being  many,  each  fish  is  a  hero. 
We  care  not  what  is  it,  this  life 

That  we  follow,  this  phantom  unknown ; 
To  swim,  it's  exceedingly  pleasant, — 

So  swim  away,  making  a  foam. 
This  strange  looking  thing  by  our  side. 

Not  for  safety,  around  it  we  flee : — 
Its  shadow's  so  shady,  that's  all, — 

We  only  swim  under  its  lee. 
And  as  for  the  eels  there  above. 

And  as  for  the  fowls  of  the  air. 
We  care  not  for  them  nor  their  ways, 

As  we  cheerily  glide  afar ! 


[189] 


We  fish,  we  fish,  we  merrily  swim, 
We  care  not  for  friend  nor  for  foe ; 

Our  fins  are  stout. 

Our  tails  are  out. 
As  through  the  seas  we  go. 


[190] 


INVOCATION 

Ha^  ha,  gods  and  kings ;  fill  high,  one  and  all ; 
Drink,  drink !  shout  and  drink !  mad  respond  to 

the  call ! 
Fill  fast,  and  fill  full;  'gainst  the  goblet  ne'er 

'  sin ; 
Quaff  there,  at  high  tide,  to  the  uttermost 
rim: — 

Flood-tide,  and  soul-tide  to  the  brim ! 

Who  with  wine  in  him  fears?  who  thinks  of  his 

cares  ? 
Who  sighs  to  be  wise,  when  wine  in  him  flares  ? 
Water  sinks  down  below,  in  currents  full  slow ; 
But  wine  mounts  on  high  with  its  genial  glow : — 
Welling  up,  till  the  brain  overflow! 

As  the  spheres,  with  a  roll,  some  fiery  of  soul, 
Others  golden,  with  music,  revolve  round  the 

pole; 
So  let  our  cups,  radiant  with  many  hued  wines. 
Round  and  round  in  groups  circle,  our  Zodiac's 

Signs: — 
Round  reeling,  and  ringing  their  chimes ! 


[191] 


Then  drink,  gods  and  kings ;  wine  merriment 

brings ; 
It  bounds  through  the  veins;  there,  jubilant 

sings. 
Let  it  ebb,  then,  and  flow ;  wine  never  grows 

dim; 
Drain  down  that  bright  tide  at  the  foam  beaded 

rim : — 

Fill  up,  every  cup,  to  the  brim ! 


[192] 


DIRGE 

We  drop  our  dead  in  the  sea, 
The  bottomless,  bottomless  sea; 

Each  bubble  a  hollow  sigh. 
As  it  sinks  forever  and  aye. 

We  drop  our  dead  in  the  sea, — 
The  dead  reck  not  of  aught ; 

We  drop  our  dead  in  the  sea, — 
The  sea  ne'er  gives  it  a  thought. 

Sink,  sink,  oh  corpse,  still  sink, 
Far  down  in  the  bottomless  sea. 

Where  the  unknown  forms  do  prowl, 
Down,  down  in  the  bottomless  sea. 

'Tis  night  above,  and  night  all  round, 
And  night  will  it  be  with  thee ; 

As  thou  sinkest,  and  sinkest  for  aye, 
Deeper  down  in  the  bottomless  sea. 


[193] 


MARLENA 

Far  off  in  the  sea  is  JNIarlena, 

A  land  of  shades  and  streams, 

A  land  of  many  delights, 

Dark  and  bold,  thy  shores,  Marlena ; 

But  green,  and  timorous,  thy  soft  knolls. 

Crouching  behind  the  woodlands. 

All  shady  thy  hills ;  all  gleaming  thy  springs, 

Like  eyes  in  the  earth  looking  at  you. 

How  charming  thy  haunts,  Marlena ! — 

Oh,  the  waters  that  flow  through  Onimoo; 

Oh,  the  leaves  that  rustle  through  Ponoo : 

Oh,  the  roses  that  blossom  in  Tarma. 

Come,  and  see  the  valley  of  Vina : 

How  sweet,  how  sweet,  the  Isles  from  Hina : 

'Tis  aye  afternoon  of  the  full,  full  moon, 

And  ever  the  season  of  fruit. 

And  ever  the  hour  of  flowers, 

And  never  the  time  of  rains  and  gales. 

All  in  and  about  Marlena. 

Soft  sigh  the  boughs  in  the  stilly  air. 

Soft  lap  the  beach  the  billows  there ; 

And  in  the  woods  or  by  the  streams. 

You  needs  must  nod  in  the  Land  of  Dreams. 


[194] 


PIPE  SONG 

Care  is  all  stuff : — 

Puff!  Puff! 
To  puff  is  enough : — 

Puff! Puff 
More  musky  than  snuff, 
And  warm  is  a  puff : — 

Puff! Puff 
Here  we  sit  mid  our  puffs, 
Like  old  lords  in  their  ruffs. 
Snug  as  bears  in  their  muffs  :- 

Puff! Puff 
Then  puff,  puff,  puff, 
For  care  is  all  stuff, 
Puffed  off  in  a  puff — 

Puff! Puff! 


[195] 


SONG  OF  YOOMY 

Departed  the  pride,  and  the  glory  of  Mardi : 

The  vaunt  of  her  isles  sleeps  deep  in  the  sea, 
That  rolls  o'er  his  corse  with  a  hush, 
His  warriors  bend  over  their  spears, 
His  sisters  gaze  upward  and  mourn. 
Weep,  weep,  for  Adondo  is  dead! 
The  sun  has  gone  down  in  a  shower ; 
Buried  in  clouds  the  face  of  the  moon ; 

Tears  stand  in  the  eyes  of  the  starry  skies. 
And  stand  in  the  eyes  of  the  flowers ; 

And  streams  of  tears  are  the  trickling  brooks, 
Coursing  adown  the  mountains. — 
Departed  the  pride,  and  the  glory  of  Mardi : 
The  vaunt  of  her  isles  sleeps  deep  in  the  sea. 

Fast  falls  the  small  rain  on  its  bosom  that 
sobs, — 
Not  showers  of  rain,  but  the  tears  of  Oro. 


[196] 


GOLD 

We  rovers  bold, 

To  the  land  of  Gold, 
Over  the  bowling  billows  are  gliding : 

Eager  to  toil, 

For  the  golden  spoil. 
And  every  hardship  biding. 

See! See! 
Before  our  prows'  resistless  dashes 
The  gold-fish  fly  in  golden  flashes ! 

'Neath  a  sun  of  gold. 

We  rovers  bold. 
On  the  golden  land  are  gaining ; 

And  every  night. 

We  steer  aright. 
By  golden  stars  unwaning! 
All  fires  burn  a  golden  glare : 
No  locks  so  bright  as  golden  hair! 

All  orange  groves  have  golden  gushings ; 

All  mornings  dawn  with  golden  flushings ! 
In  a  shower  of  gold,  say  fables  old, 
A  maiden  was  won  by  the  god  of  gold ! 

In  golden  goblets  wine  is  beaming: 

On  golden  couches  kings  are  dreaming ! 

The  Golden  Rule  dries  many  tears ! 

The  Golden  Number  rules  the  spheres ! 

[197] 


Gold,  gold  it  is,  that  sways  the  nations : 
Gold !  gold !  the  center  of  all  rotations ! 
On  golden  axles  worlds  are  turning: 
With  phosphorescence  seas  are  burning ! 
All  fire-flies  flame  with  golden  gleamings ! 
Gold-hunters'  hearts  with  golden  dreamings ! 
With  golden  arrows  kings  are  slain : 
With  gold  we'll  buy  a  freeman's  name! 
In  toilsome  trades,  for  scanty  earnings, 
At  home  we've  slaved,  with  stifled  yearnings : 
No  light !  no  hope !  Oh,  heavy  woe ! 
When  nights  fled  fast,  and  days  dragged  slow. 
But  joyful  now,  with  eager  eye, 
Fast  to  the  Promised  Land  we  fly: 
Where  in  deep  mines. 
The  treasure  shines ; 
Or  down  in  beds  of  golden  streams, 
The  gold-flakes  glance  in  golden  gleams  I 
How  we  long  to  sift. 
That  yellow  drift! 
Rivers !  Rivers !  cease  your  goings ! 
Sand-bars!  rise,  and  stay  the  tide! 
'Till  we've  gained  the  golden  flowing; 
And  in  the  golden  haven  ride ! 


[198] 


THE  LAND  OF  LOVE 

Hail!  voyagers,  hail! 

Whence  e'er  ye  come,  where'er  ye  rove, 

No  calmer  strand, 

No  sweeter  land, 
Will  e'er  ye  view,  than  the  Land  of  Love ! 

Hail !  voyagers,  hail ! 
To  these,  our  shores,  soft  gales  invite : 

The  palm  plumes  wave. 

The  billows  lave, 
And  hither  point  fix'd  stars  of  light ! 

Hail !  voyagers,  hail ! 
Think  not  our  groves  wide  brood  with  gloom ; 

In  this,  our  isle. 

Bright  flowers  smile : 
Full  urns,  rose-heaped,  these  valleys  bloom. 

Hail !  voyagers,  hail ! 
Be  not  deceived;  renounce  vain  things; 

Ye  may  not  find 

A  tranquil  mind. 
Though  hence  ye  sail  with  swiftest  wings. 


[199] 


Hail !  voyagers,  hail  1 
Time  flies  full  fast;  life  soon  is  o'er; 

And  ye  may  mourn, 

That  hither  borne, 
Ye  left  behind  our  pleasant  shore. 


[200] 


POEMS   FROM 
CLAREL 


DIRGE 

Stay^  Death,  Not  mine  the  Christus-wand 

Wherewith  to  charge  thee  and  command : 

I  plead.  Most  gently  hold  the  hand 

Of  her  thou  leadest  far  away ; 

Fear  thou  to  let  her  naked  feet 

Tread  ashes — but  let  mosses  sweet 

Her  footing  tempt,  where'er  ye  stray. 

Shun  Orcus ;  win  the  moonlit  land 

Belulled — the  silent  meadows  lone, 

Where  never  any  leaf  is  blown 

From  lily-stem  in  Azrael's  hand. 

There,  till  her  love  rejoin  her  lowly 

(Pensive,  a  shade,  but  all  her  own) 

On  honey  feed  her,  wild  and  holy; 

Or  trance  her  with  thy  choicest  charm. 

And  if,  ere  yet  the  lover's  free, 

Some  added  dusk  thy  rule  decree — 

That  shadow  only  let  it  be 

Thrown  in  the  moon-glade  by  the  palm. 


[203] 


EPILOGUE 

//  Luther's  day  expand  to  Darwin's  year. 
Shall  that  exclude  the  hope — foreclose  the  fear? 

Unmoved  by  all  the  claims  our  times  avow, 
The  ancient  Sphinx  still  keeps  the  porch  of 

shade ; 
And  comes  Despair,  whom  not  her  calm  may 

cow. 
And  coldly  on  that  adamantine  brow 
Scrawls  undeterred  his  bitter  pasquinade. 
But  Faith  (who  from  the  scrawl  indignant 

turns ) 
With  blood  warm  oozing  from  her  wounded 

trust, 
Inscribes  even  on  her  shards  of  broken  urns 
The  sign  o'  the  cross — the  spirit  above  the  dust! 

Yea,  ape  and  angel,  strife  and  old  debate — 
The  harps  of  heaven  and  dreary  gongs  of  hell ; 
Science  the  feud  can  only  aggravate — 
No  umpire  she  betwixt  the  chimes  and  knell : 
The  running  battle  of  the  star  and  clod 
Shall  run  forever — if  there  be  no  God. 


[204] 


Degrees  we  know,  unlmown  in  days  before ; 
The  light  is  greater,  hence  the  shadow  more ; 
And  tantahzed  and  apprehensive  Man 
Appeahng — Wherefore  ripen  us  to  pain  ? 
Seems  there  the  spokesman  of  dumb  Nature's 
train. 

But  through  such  strange  illusions  have  they 
passed 
Who  in  life's  pilgrimage  have  baffled  striven — 
Even  death  may  prove  unreal  at  the  last, 
And  stoics  be  astounded  into  heaven. 

Then  keep  thy  heart,  though  yet  but 

ill-resigned — 
Clarel,  thy  heart,  the  issues  there  but  mind ; 
That  like  the  crocus  budding  through  the 

snow — 
That  like  a  swimmer  rising  from  the  deep — 
That  like  a  burning  secret  which  doth  go 
Even  from  the  bosom  that  would  hoard  and 

keep; 
Emerge  thou  mayst  from  the  last  whelming 

sea. 
And  prove  that  death  but  routs  life  into  victory. 


[205] 


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